Weston House
by neonchica
Summary: Dean and Sam arrive in a small college town where coeds are mysteriously disappearing, but the aftermath of the hunt leaves the boys struggling with something they never dreamed could happen. Will they be able to deal with the consequences or will the bo
1. Chapter 1

**Dean and Sam arrive in a small college town where coeds are mysteriously disappearing, but the aftermath of the hunt leaves the boys struggling with something they never dreamed could happen. Will they be able to deal with the consequences or will the boys finally have to give up the hunt?**

Hey guys, thanks for picking my story to read! I'm flattered. This is my first fan fic, but I've been writing for years. I'm obsessive about my writing and love getting any kind of helpful criticism and feedback, so don't hesitate to send in responses. Any suggestions you have to improve my writing is welcome. Typical disclaimer: I do not own Dean and Sam, but the creative process is all mine. Hope you enjoy!

Dean wove his precious Impala through the expansive campus, cautiously avoiding the hundreds of students who paid little to no attention to the fact that cars actually inhabited the roads. More concerned with talking to their friends and making it to class on time, the students were constantly stepping into the street without so much as a backward glance.

"Geez, someone needs to tell these kids that their entire campus isn't one giant cross walk," Dean complained as he narrowly missed hitting a boy sporting a set of earphones, his face buried in a Physics book. Dean blasted the horn at the kid, but the sound didn't even register in his mind as he stepped foot onto the other side of the street. "I thought you had to be intelligent to get in to college." He turned to Sam. "You ever do stuff like that college boy?"

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother. "You can't win 'em all. Keep your eyes on the road, bro. I think the dorm is just up ahead there."

They managed to make it the last hundred yards without any further incidents and parked the car safely in front of Weston House, one of the towering dormitory's on the campus, as Sam looked at his watch. The time and his growling stomach told him it was long past lunchtime. "What do you say we head across the street there to that deli and grab a bite to eat before we get down to investigating. I'm famished."

"Ooh, bringing out the big words for the campus," Dean teased lightheartedly. "I may just have to buy myself a dictionary to keep up with you."

"At least one of us has to appear like we belong here," Sam shot back as he slammed the door shut and sprinted across the street.

"Careful with the car," Dean ordered, feigning annoyance joining his brother at the deli. "She doesn't like to be treated so roughly."

With sandwiches, chips, and the customary dill spear in hand Dean and Sam chose a table near the window so they could keep an eye on the dorm and the students on the off chance that anything out of the ordinary might happen. It didn't seem likely that something could happen in broad daylight, but the Winchester boys weren't taking any chances. Two days ago Sam had gotten a call from an old friend from school who was in an absolute state of panic. His little sister, a freshman at the campus Sam and Dean were currently at, had gone missing after a long night of partying. She had last been seen around three thirty in the morning less than a block from Weston House, but she had never actually made it inside to her room. Initially, Sam had simply played the good friend card, consoling his buddy and offering the standard words of sympathy. But Sam's brain began working overtime when Tony began recounting other unusual occurrences surrounding his sister's disappearance. She wasn't the first to go missing, not by a long shot. For weeks now coeds had been disappearing in the middle of the night, and everyone of them had been last spotted less than a block from Weston House. Each one had traveled alone to their late night destination. But that's where the similarities ended. There was no pattern to the victims that could distinguish who, or what, the attacker was seeking in his hunt. From football players to TA's, straight A students to flunkey's, freshmen to graduate students, the attacker was making no biases towards his victims. In addition, no one had ever seen the attacker, and none of the victims had ever been found. There was no distinguishable evidence that even suggested foul play. It was as if they had simply disappeared.

It hadn't taken much to convince Sam that there was something supernatural going on at the campus and Dean had quickly agreed. "We should go," Dean had said matter-of-factly. "Tell your friend that we'll get to the bottom of this." Neither of them had discussed the unlikely possibility that Tony's sister would be found alive, but if they could stop the attacks from happening to other students it was worth their investigation.

They hadn't said much to each other as they ate their sandwiches, both keeping ears open for conversations about the attacks among the other patrons in the diner. The efforts paid off as Dean's sensitive hearing picked up on a hushed conversation at the table just behind them. He listened intently as the group of seven males and females tossed out varying ideas on safety measures for the students. From the way they talked he could tell that they held positions of authority over some, or all, of the students on campus.

After fifteen minutes it didn't seem likely that the group would be disbanding any time soon, and Dean wasn't getting the information he was looking for. He motioned for Sam to follow him out of the restaurant and back across the street to the car. "Why'd we leave," Sam asked him when they had made it back to the car. "From the way you were eavesdropping on their conversation I could swear you were getting information."

"I think we're gonna get more out of them if we actually talk to one of them in person. They were just talking about keeping people safe, but I wasn't getting any information on the actual attacks. I just want to do some snooping around here and wait for that group to leave the deli. Just help me watch for them."

Another half hour passed before Sam noticed two of the girls from the group, one brunette, one blonde, making their way across the street back to Weston House. Between the two of them Sam and Dean had already made a preliminary search of the grounds around the dorm and came up empty. There was no sign that anything out of the ordinary had been happening on an almost nightly basis for several weeks. Sam caught up to the girls as they reached the door to the dorm. Dean was right behind his brother. "Excuse me," Sam began, holding the door open for the girls to go through. "I was hoping you could help me with something."

"Depends on what you need," the brunette replied suspiciously. Her petite frame disguised her fiery demeanor as she tried to stand up straighter and make herself appear intimidating to the boys. The series of disappearances was obviously taking it's toll on the nerves of the campus residents and this girl was taking no chances.

Sam turned up the Winchester charm a notch and offered the girl his most effective smile and began providing her with the story he and Dean had fabricated on the drive over "I'm Sam Winchester. This is my brother Dean. We're private investigators hired by the Malone family to look into the disappearance of Kimmie Malone," he explained, referencing Tony's sister. I understand she lived here, in this dormitory. We were hoping to talk to some people who knew her, and maybe get some information on these disappearances."

The girls kept silent for a long time, averting their eyes away from the two hunters, and Sam was afraid they had already struck out on their first attempt at information. He was about to thank them for their time and move on to someone who might be more helpful when the blond spoke up, timidly. "Kimmie was one of mine," she practically whispered.

"I'm sorry, one of your what's?" Dean asked, stepping forward towards the girls with curiosity.

"I was her RA - resident advisor," the girl replied, a little louder. "Kimmie was on my wing. She was such a sweet girl." Tears brimmed in her eyes as she thought about the missing girl. "She was my responsibility."

Sam reached a comforting hand out to the girl and placed it on her shoulder. "This isn't your fault, miss. None of this is your fault. We just need some information so that we can find the thing– I mean the person that's doing this." Dean shot Sam a look, warning him to be more careful with what he was saying. The last thing they needed was for the girls to clam up because they began to sound certifiable.

"Is there anyway we could go someplace and sit down?" Dean asked gently, foreseeing the likelihood that recounting the attacks and disappearances would be too much for the girls to do standing up. Nodding their heads the girls indicated that Sam and Dean should follow them. Minutes later they sat in the brunette's dorm room with cups of coffee. On the way up they had learned her name was Laura, and the blond was Justine.

Once they had gotten comfortable with the boys and trusted they weren't dangerous Laura and Justine had proven themselves to be veritable fountains of knowledge on the disappearances. It seemed that the disappearances had started almost five weeks ago and in that time 17 coeds had gone missing. Only a handful of them actually were residents of Weston House; the others just happened to have been walking by at the wrong time. Every one of them had gone missing sometime between midnight and four o'clock. Despite the lack of witnesses that could testify to actually having seen any attacks occur, there was an overwhelming number of people who remember seeing each of the victims near the dorm at the time of their disappearance. Police had performed search after search of the area, but every time they came up with nothing. Not once had there been any sign of a struggle. The lack of evidence screamed supernatural loud and clear to the seasoned hunters. Armed with the names of all the victims and every possible bit of information they could extract from Laura and Justine Sam and Dean headed to the door, thanking the girls for their help.

"What are you going to do now?" Laura asked.

"Not much we can do until it gets dark," Dean replied. "We're just gonna go across the street to the diner and wait. Don't worry. If everything goes alright this whole thing we'll be over by daybreak tomorrow."

"But how are you going to catch this guy? What can you possibly do that the police haven't been able to do."

"No offense to the police, Laura, but they don't have a clue what to do about something like this. This is what we do. You'll see." Dean's cocky smile did little to comfort the girl who had understandably developed a rational fear of the Weston House attacker.

Sharing a well placed look with Justine, Laura announced, "We want to help. We're coming with you."

"Uh uh. No. Absolutely not," Dean ordered firmly. "I'm not willing to put either of you at risk. We've been doing this for a long time. But you two, you'll only be in the way. The best way you can help is to stay inside tonight and out of harms way."

Laura opened her mouth to protest, but Dean stopped her before she could say anything. "I mean it. Stay put. When this is all over we'll come back and say good bye to you girls. Maybe even take you out for a cup of coffee before we hightail it out of here."

Although they had just met, something told Laura that you didn't argue with Dean Winchester. He was a man who always got what he wanted. Relenting, she nodded. "Just stay safe," she finally said, stretching up and giving each brother a peck on the cheek, lingering just a little longer with Dean. "I'll never forgive myself if you two get yourselves killed."

In unison the brother's flashed their million dollar smiles at the girls. "It'll never happen," Dean said emphatically. "The Winchester men are invincible."

With several hours still left to kill Dean and Sam left the dorm and made their way back to the diner. It was time to talk strategy. The only thing they were absolutely sure of was that all the victims had been near the dorm alone. That meant the brothers would have to split up in order to stand a chance at being selected as the attacker's next victim. But it also meant there would be twice the chance that one of them would be grabbed. Unfortunately, they still had no idea what they were dealing with, which meant they had no idea what would kill it. They needed to be armed with every possible manner of attack available to them, which then begged the question of how to conceal those weapons. The only thing they had going for them was that it was still February and bulky coats would be able to conceal most of the weaponry.

At dusk, still hours before any of the attacks had occurred, Dean and Sam crossed the street back to the Impala. By some unexpected twist of fate the street was entirely deserted, allowing the brother's to select their weapons without the need to hide the artillery filling the trunk. They each armed themselves with guns, silver bullet's, wooden stakes, holy water, knives, poison's and anything else that seemed even remotely likely to protect them. When they were as armed as they possibly could get Sam and Dean separated, heading to opposite corners of the block, and began their waiting game.

Sam couldn't help but chuckle nervously to himself as he considered the situation. If this attacker was smart enough to abduct 17 fully grown students without leaving behind so much as a footprint how on earth would he not be able to detect an ambush. There was only so much two experienced hunters could do to look naive and innocent while their clothes disguised a multitude of weapons. Was this really going to work?

More than three hours would pass before the question would be answered, but at 24 minutes past midnight a shrill scream rang out in the darkness. The next victim had been chosen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Dean and Sam arrive in a small college town where coeds are mysteriously disappearing, but the aftermath of the hunt leaves the boys struggling with something they never dreamed could happen. Will they be able to deal with the consequences or will the boys finally have to give up the hunt?**

**I do not own Dean and Sam, just the story. **

_Hey guys, thanks for reading this story! I have no idea if I will be updating this quickly in the future, but I just happened to have a couple days off from work and so I whipped out another chapter quickly for both you guys and myself. Celtic-Spaniard, in answer to your question, keep reading - I think you will be surprised to find that this will end up being nothing like Oglethorpe House. It's an idea that I haven't yet found stories on - you'll see by the end of this chapter. Hopefully you will like it just the same, though. Ironically, the idea of Weston House is just a means to an end. I came up with the name myself because it sounded "dormy." I live in the heart of West Virginia University's campus, but we don't really have any cool dorm names. Which college do you go to? Anyway, thanks for the reviews! Please continue sending them.And on to the story..._

More than three hours would pass before the question would be answered, but at 24 minutes past midnight a shrill scream rang out in the darkness. The next victim had been chosen. Dean's head snapped up when he heard his brother scream and he immediately began running in the direction it had come from. "Saaaaaam!" Dean yelled, knowing instinctively that there would be no response. Rounding the corner, Dean frantically scanned the street and lawn surrounding Weston House in search of his brother, but there was no sign of him or his attacker. Dean fell to his knees, breathing heavily. "Sammy," he called again. "I'm gonna find you. Just hold on. I'm coming."

Climbing back to his feet Dean began sprinting to where he believed Sam had last been. He followed his instincts around the corner and found himself confronting two dark shadows several feet ahead of him. There was less light on this side of the building and Dean couldn't make out their identities. A ray of hope shot through his body. "Sam?" Dean asked tentatively as he moved closer.

"No, it's us. Laura and Justine," Laura's quavering voice cut through the air.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Dean demanded. "I thought I told you to stay inside! I don't have time to worry about the two of you!"

"We saw it," Laura said shakily, ignoring Dean's ranting. "It was here, and then it was just...gone. It took Sam. They went down– Into the ground."

Suddenly his anger was gone. The girls had seen it take Sam. There was a chance for salvation. They knew what had happened. "You're sure you saw them disappear into the ground?" Dean repeated, more out of need for a minute to think than for the actual confirmation.

"I know it sounds crazy," Laura answered defensively, "but we saw it happen. Justine and I both did. ...and Dean, it wasn't human."

"I believe you," Dean assured them, pacing back and forth over the ground where Sam must have been just minutes before. "But now we have to figure out where they went. Where did it take him? Do you guys know if there's anything under ground level of Weston House," Dean asked desperately. "A basement? A storm cellar? Anything?"

"Yeah," Justine replied. "Of course, there's a basement. But the police searched there already. They didn't find anything."

"How do you get to it," Dean asked, already moving in the direction of the entrance to the dorm. "They had to have missed something."

Justine sprinted forward, passing Dean and motioning for him to follow her. Laura was right behind them. "It's this way. Just through this door." Justine reached for the doorknob but Dean stopped her, closing his hand tightly over her hand. "Wait. Let me go first," he ordered. Justine stepped aside and Dean quickly ran through the doorway and down the stairs into the damp, musty basement. He pulled out a flashlight and cast the thin beam of light spastically around the room, searching for anything out the ordinary and screaming Sam's name over and over. The room was suddenly bathed in light ans he was soon joined by the girls.

"We have electricity," Laura announced. "It might help in the search."

Dean simply nodded. He was too intent on finding his brother to deal with thank you's. Running to the nearest wall Dean began scrutinizing every crack and paint chip, running his hands over it and pressing in random spots.

"What are we looking for?" Laura asked, inspecting a different section of wall before she even knew what to do.

"Look for anything that could indicate a secret passageway or a hidden room. Look for anything unusual. Just look for anything that can help my brother."

The three of them searched the room for the good part of an hour with Dean's periodic shouts for Sam being the only thing breaking the silence. They'd been over every inch of the basement several times and Dean was beginning to lose faith that they'd ever find Sam. In a very un-Dean-like manner he slumped to the floor in defeat, pounding his fists into the hard cinder block wall and ignoring the bloodied knuckles that resulted.

"Dean stop," Laura ordered, stepping towards him and grabbing his fists. "You have to be quiet."

"How can you tell me to be quiet at a time like this," Dean demanded, glaring at the girl preventing his fists from slamming into the wall again. "My brother is _gone_. Pulled into the depths of god knows where and I have absolutely NO LEADS as to where he might have been taken. How can you tell me to be quiet!"

"NO! I mean be quiet and listen. There's something on the other side of that wall."

Dean immediately shut his mouth and listened to what Laura believed she had heard. Justine inched closer as well, straining her own ears. For what seemed like an eternity there was silence, but when hope was all but lost they heard the yell. It came through so faint it could have easily been missed by anyone not listening for it specifically. Dean pressed his ear to the cinder blocks and listened with everything he had, praying that he was hearing his brother and not some kids messing around.

The yell came through louder this time and Dean got his answer. "That was Sam! That was definitely my brother. We have to break through this wall." With renewed strength Dean frantically scanned the basement for anything he could use to break through the wall. On a workbench along one of the walls sat a pile of tools. Within the pile was a sledgehammer which Dean grabbed and raced back to the wall, swinging the tool before his feet had even come to a halt. Metal hit concrete with a sharp thwack sending chips of matter flying in every direction and leaving the start of a gaping hole in the wall. Dean took another swing and connected with the same spot as more concrete separated from the wall. After the fourth hit a tiny pinpoint hole revealed a room on the other side. Hit five generated a hole the size of the end of the sledgehammer and they were immediately struck with a wave of nausea as an overpowering stench emanated through the gaping hole. The three of them backed off for a second, gagging at the sickening sweet smell of rotting flesh that had greeted them. But Dean didn't let that keep him down for long, and soon he was back at the wall, ignoring the stench. It was sheer determination that got Dean through the wall so quickly, and twenty minutes later he was climbing through the opening he had created into the hidden dungeon on the other side.

Once again pulling out his flashlight Dean scouted the room, cautiously shining the light around trying to find Sam and looking out for his captor at the same time. They appeared to be in a massive, cavernous room carved entirely out of the mud and dirt of the ground. From what he could tell there were no support beams or anything to provide reinforcement, yet the room held it's shape. Roots protruded on all sides of the room.

It was on the second scan of the room that Dean finally found Sam dumped in a heap on the floor on the opposite side of the room. Throwing caution to the wind Dean racedover to Sam and fell to his knees beside his brother. Following his reckless lead, Laura and Justine came to rest beside Dean and Sam.

"Sam, I'm here," Dean leaned over his brother and slipped his arms under Sam's armpits, helping him to sit up. Sam shrugged Dean off as soon as he was leaning against the wall.

"It's still here, Dean," Sam said through chattering teeth. "You have to get them out of here. They're not safe."

Knowing Sam was talking about them, Laura and Justine shook their heads adamantly. "Uh uh," Laura said. "We're in this just as much as you are, now. We're staying. Just give us some weapons or something."

It seemed odd to Dean that the girls had never asked the obvious question of how. Both of them had simply accepted the fact that a strange creature had pulled itself and Sam literally into the ground where they had landed in a mud carved room with no way for a human to enter or exit. They didn't question the boys when Dean opened his coat and revealed the artillery closet hidden beneath his coat which contained both civilian weapons and supernatural weapons. Dean offered the girls their choice of holy water, stakes, and potions, but he was unwilling to hand them any of the guns, assuming they wouldn't know how to use them safely.

"Dean, help me stand," Sam ordered weakly.

"I think you should just sit there for a little bit, Sammy," Dean replied, laying his hand on Sam's shoulder to keep him sitting.

"It's Sam," he corrected his brother. "I'm fine. I just got the wind knocked out of me. And we don't have time for this. I don't know what happened to it, but it didn't leave. It'll be back. I'm not meant to be left alive."

"How do you know that?" Dean demanded, finally relenting and helping his brother to stand.

"Because of that." Sam grabbed the flashlight from his brother's hand and aimed it at the ground several feet to the right and revealing a large pit dug into the dirt floor. As the group inched closer to it the putrid smell that had invaded their senses from the second the sledgehammer had gone through the wall became stronger and stronger. The light was shone into the deep pit and gasps followed. Hands reached up to cover mouths and noses and it wasn't long before Justine had to back off into a corner to be sick in private. The others looked though, mesmerized and unable to turn away despite the grotesque sight that met their eyes. In the pit lay the bodies of all seventeen coeds that had gone missing, their bodies in various stages of decay. Everyone of them was still fully clothed and had been laid face down, side by side, in ritualistic fashion. Most disturbing, though, was the fact that each one of them had their skulls cracked open and inside was nothing.

"He ate their brains," Sam explained unnecessarily. "He fed off of them."

There wasn't much time to dwell on the image in front of them, though, because another shrill scream invaded their world. This time it came from Justine and the other three looked up just in time to see her body fly across the room. They heard the thud as she connected with solid matter, but they didn't have resources to go after her. The creature was closing in on them and Dean and Sam were frantically working through their cache of weapons trying to find the one that would kill him.

As the creature stepped into the light of the flashlight Dean recoiled in horror. He was the only one yet to see it. 'Well at least he's consistent,' Dean thought to himself sarcastically. In front of him towered the creature. It wore no clothes, and it's fat greyish body was shriveled and wrinkled. He looked like one giant brain. And he was standing just inches away from Dean.

"Dude, you might want to thing about a breath mint, brain boy," Dean remarked as he caught a whiff of the rancid, moist breath. As if in response the creature reached one of it's plump arms out and smacked at Dean, sending him hurling several feet to the side and leaving him with a dislocated shoulder.

Already armed with the knowledge of how strong the brain creature was Sam frantically turned to Laura. "Run!" he ordered as he was lifted bodily into the air. Sam kicked with everything he had while struggling to grab his knife from the inside pocket of his coat. He pulled it out triumphantly and slashed out. The knife connected with the mushy brain-like matter in the creature's neck and slid in easily as it howled with anger. It flung Sam across the room like a rag doll and shifted it's attention back to Dean who was slowly climbing to his feet, his left arm hanging limply by his side.

While the creature had been aiming it's attention on Sam, Dean had had enough time to load his gun with the silver bullets and he now aimed it where the heart should be and fired. The creature faltered, but recovered quickly and came after Dean, angrier than ever. Dean backed up, his hands searching once again for a weapon and closing around the wooden stake. He lashed out and made contact in the flesh just above where the bullet had entered. Now wild with rage the creature reached out and grabbed Dean by the throat, lifting him high off the ground. Dean struggled to free himself from the creature's firm grasp. His lungs burned as they used up the last bit of air, but it was impossible to break free. Sam was nowhere to be seen and the girls didn't stand a chance at fighting this thing. Dean was on his own, and his time on this earth was fast approaching its end. He had one more chance to save everyone. Removing the last iota of salvation he had, Dean stopped trying to tear the creatures hand from his throat and reached into his coat one last time for the sword that hung from his waistband. He pulled it out and swung with his last ounce of strength, connecting with the creature's neck and separating it's head from the rest of it's body.

Dean dropped like a sack of potatoes on the ground and gratefully sucked in breath after breath of the putrid, life giving air. His throat screamed in pain, helping him forget all about the throbbing in his shoulder. The brain creature had fallen a few feet away, dead as a doornail. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. This nightmare was over. And yet, not so much.

"Dean, get over here. Your brother!" Dean snapped out of his reverie when Laura's frantic cries broke the silence. He scrambled to his feet and over to where Sam lay motionless on the ground.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean crouched beside his brother and surveyed the situation. A small trickle of blood flowed from Sam's mouth and Dean could hear the gurgling sound of his breathing, indicating fluid in his lungs. Sam stared wide-eyed back at Dean, terror in his eyes as he struggled to suck in a full breath of air.

"Just hold on, little brother. I'm gonna get you out of here. Brain boy's dead and everything's gonna be fine now."

"What can I do?" Laura asked anxiously, her eyes darting back and forth between Dean and Sam.

"Go check on Justine," Dean said, his eyes never wavering from his brother. "We're gonna get you out of here as soon as the girls get back," Dean assured Sam. Dean allowed himself to survey the room for a minute, trying to figure out how he was going to get Sam out of the room. They had only waited until the hole in the wall was big enough to climb through, so it was still several feet off the ground. There was no way Sam would be able to climb through it in his condition, and Dean only had one good arm to support his brother. How would they do this?

"She's dead," Laura said monotonously as she returned to the boys, interrupting Dean's thoughts. The reality would probably hit her later, but she was still holding strong while the situation demanded it. "Let's get your brother out of here while we still can."

"OK, Sammy. We're gonna get you sitting. Nice and easy." Dean began to lift Sam's arm, draping it loosely over his shoulders and wincing as the weight settled on his injured shoulder. It occurred to Dean that he'd called Sam Sammy twice without protest. The sheer fact of that realization put Dean into hyper gear and he ordered Laura to Sam's other side as he prepared to lift.

"Dean stop!" Sam cried desperately. "Put me down, please." Sam coughed painfully as the exertion of raising his voice was too much for his weakened lungs. Blood sprayed in specks on the dirt floor.

"Sammy, we've got to get you out of here," Dean protested. "You're hurt. We have to get you to a hospital."

Sam's breathing was getting shallower and he sucked in a raspy breath before he was able to speak. "You can't move me," he insisted. "Dean, I can't feel my legs."


	3. Chapter 3

**Dean and Sam arrive in a small college town where coeds are mysteriously disappearing, but the aftermath of the hunt leaves the boys struggling with something they never dreamed could happen. Will they be able to deal with the consequences or will the boys finally have to give up the hunt?**

**I do not own Dean and Sam, just the story.**

_Hey guys! Thanks again for all your encouraging reviews. I've gotten so used to just writing for myself that I forgot how good it feels to get positive feedback. I figured the only thing I could do in return was to hammer out yet another chapter for you guys. Ajali - thanks for all the helpful suggestions. I've never really experienced a dislocated shoulder, so I have no idea what it's really like, but I see Dean as a hardass who never shows his pain. Hopefully the additional pain in the next chapter will suffice. I can't promise to include more dialogue (I've always been more of a narrator than a dialoguer - yeah yeah, not really a word - and old habits die hard) but I'll do my best to incorporate more dialogue. And don't worry about me taking anything the wrong way, my biggest pet peeve in college was getting papers back without any feedback. If you can dish it I can take it. Thanks guys! Enjoy!_

Sam's breathing was getting shallower and he sucked in a raspy breath before he was able to speak. "You can't move me," he insisted. "Dean, I can't feel my legs."

"You what?" Dean glared at Sam, holding back the urge to smack him upside the head. "Sam, this is absolutely no time to be joking. People are dead here, and you're about to join them if we don't get you to a hospital."

"It's not a joke," Sam rasped, his eyes beginning to glaze over. "They're numb. And I've been trying to move them for several minutes. I don't think they're doing anything. Are they?"

Dean looked over at his brother's motionless legs, Sam's pitiful voice resounding loudly in his ears. This was no time to lose hope. Dean put on his best convincing smile and reappeared in his brother's line of sight. "Of course they are Sammy," he assured the youngest Winchester. "Everything's fine. But we're gonna call 911 just to be on the safe side, OK little brother?" Dean eyed Laura, and the look alone was enough to tell her what she needed to do. Find a phone and get the paramedics to his brother immediately. Yesterday would be too late in Dean's opinion.

He hated the idea of having to leave his little brother alone, but the place was going to be swarming with cops any minute now and he had to get rid of the creature before anyone else saw it. Hunter's etiquette 101 had taught them that it was necessary to keep as many innocents in the dark as possible. It was bad enough that Laura had seen everything, and he still hadn't talked to her about keeping her mouth shut. The last thing they needed was for brain boy's picture to be splashed all over the morning newspaper. There would be far too many questions to be answered and Dean had more important things to worry about. Namely, Sam.

Dean's shoulder screamed in agony as he dragged the creature out of sight, but he pushed himself harder knowing that the sooner he got rid of the evidence the sooner he could return to Sam's side. He could hear sirens in the distance as he returned to his little brother's side.

"They're almost here, Sammy," Dean said as he dropped to his brother's side again noticing Sam's eye's were closed. "Come on, bro. You just gotta hang on a little bit longer. We're gonna get you to the hospital." When Sam failed to respond Dean cried out desperately. "I'm not losing you, Sammy! You hang on, hear me? _Hang On_."

Seconds later Laura was at Dean's side again, gently prying him away from Sam's side so the paramedics could get in and do their job. Despite the fact that she'd just lost a friend, she was still whispering soothing words into Dean's ear. Within minutes Sam had been immobilized and strapped onto a stretcher and they were passing him hand over hand through the opening in the wall.

A massive crowd had gathered out in front of Weston House and they watched with morbid curiosity as Sam was wheeled out the front doors and placed into the waiting ambulance. Questions about what had happened to him and whether it had been another attack sounded through Dean's mind as he blindly pushed his way through the crowd behind his brother. He jumped into the waiting ambulance and vaguely remembered Laura's voice telling him she'd meet him at the hospital before the doors closed and the ambulance roared away. Sam had been unresponsive since Dean had returned to him and nothing changed on the ride to the hospital.

The paramedics worked fervently on Sam's lifeless body, starting IV lines and feeding him oxygen among other things Dean didn't understand, but nothing brought Sam around. Despite their best efforts his vitals had been steadily dropping, and a there was an obvious note of urgency in the voices as the ambulance doors opened at the ER and Sam's statistics were announced to the waiting doctors and nurses. Dean chased Sam and the team down the hall to the waiting room, squirming out of the arms of several nurses and orderlies who tried to stop him. "He's my brother!" Dean insisted. "I have to stay with him. He needs me."

Dean made it all the way through the swinging double doors of ER 2 before he was finally stopped by an imposing male orderly. "Son, you can't be in here. We need to let them do their job."

"I have to be with him," Dean repeated. "I can't leave my bother."

"You're not going to be doing anything but getting in the way. Come on, lets go out and wait. I promise the doctors will come talk to you as soon as they know anything."

Exhausted and deflated Dean gave in to the orderlies request far more easily than he would have had he been in perfect health, and followed him back through the doors and down the hall to the waiting room. They were just far enough out of ear shot for Dean to miss the monitors shrieking frantically as Sam's heart monitor flat-lined.

The orderly had finally managed to convince Dean to sit when Laura burst through the ER entrance. Dean popped back up to his feet and met Laura half way. "How is he?" she pressed.

"I don't know," Dean answered. "They wouldn't let me stay with him."

"He's gonna be fine. I don't even know you guys that well and I can already tell your brother's a fighter." Laura scrutinized Dean critically. He was covered in mud from head to toe and there were rips and tears all over his clothing. Bruises covered Dean's throat in the shape of a giant hand print. His knuckles were scraped raw and blood had clotted all over the back of his hands and down his arms from pounding his fists on the concrete. Blood poured from an open gash on his temple. His left arm still hung limply at his side, and although Dean tried to hide it Laura could tell he was in serious pain. "You, on the other hand, look like you've been through both world wars and the apocalypse. Have you seen a doctor?"

"I'm fine," Dean lied, easing himself into one of the hard plastic chairs in the waiting area. "I need to focus on my brother right now."

"You're not _fine_," Laura protested. "You've got a dislocated shoulder and you're bleeding. You have to get that taken care of."

"I will," Dean insisted. "Just as soon as I know Sam's gonna be OK."

"We could be waiting a long time," Laura told him logically. "You'd be better off taking care of yourself now. That way you can be with him when he–"

"I said I'm fine!" Dean snapped, interrupting her. "Back off, will ya?"

Laura backed away physically, but her mind was still working over time trying to figure out a way to get Dean checked out. "Fine. I'm getting us something to drink. I'll be back in a minute."

"I'm not thirsty!" Dean yelled after her, but his protests went unheard. He flopped back against the back of the seat, closing his eyes and biting his lip against the pain that flowed like hot lava through his body. _I have to push through this. I can't be hurt right now; not when Sammy's going through hell down the hall._

Meanwhile, Laura had doubled back once she was positive Dean wasn't watching her and made a beeline to the nurses station. She leaned over the counter and whispered to the sympathetic looking nurse on the other side. "Hi, I hope you can give me a hand with something. You see that guy sitting over there in the chairs?" She nudged her head in Dean's direction. Only a few people inhabited the ER at this hour of the night and the nurse spotted him easily. Accepting the nurses nod as confirmation that she had, indeed, spotted Dean, Laura continued. "He came in with his brother a little while ago; his brother's in pretty rough shape; but he's in bad shape too. And he's refusing to see a doctor until he know's his brother's OK. Do you think you could get someone to come out and look at him out here?"

The young nurse contemplated Laura's request for a minute. "I suppose that would be OK," she said finally, hesitantly. "Normally we like to give out patients privacy, but–"

"That would be great," Laura interrupted her before she could change her mind. "We'll just be waiting over there." Flashing her biggest smile of appreciation at the nurse, Laura turned and returned to Dean.

"Where are the drinks?" Dean asked suspiciously, noticing their blatant lack of existence.

"I didn't get anything," Laura replied bluntly. "I went to get you a doctor."

"You did what?" Dean growled. "I told you I was fine! I don't need to see a doctor."

"I'm not arguing with you. I can be just as stubborn as you can, and I'm a woman. Women always get their way." Laura winked.

Dean would have continued to protest, but they were joined by a doctor and the nurse from behind the counter before he was able to open his mouth again. He glared stubbornly at all three of them, feeling as though he was about to be the victim of an intervention. But he couldn't deny the intensity of the pain encompassing his body. At the very least they would be able to give him some pain killers to dull the pain. It might even help him to focus better on Sam, providing the pain killers weren't _too_ strong. "Alright, you can look at me. But do it quickly."

"Any chance we might be able to get you to come with us to an exam room?" asked the doctor. "You may want some privacy when we set that shoulder. It's not exactly a day at the beach."

Dean shook his head emphatically. "I can't leave my brother."

"Please go with them," Laura pleaded. "I'll stay right here. I promise you'll know when there's any news on Sam."

The pain was worsening by the second. Dean wasn't in the mood to argue anymore. "Fine," he snapped, jumping to his feet a little too fast and swaying a little before he found a firm footing. "Let's just get this over with." As he followed the doctor down the hall Dean turned to Laura. "Don't even think about keeping me in the dark for my own good! The second you know something about Sam, I better know it too!"

"AAARRRGGGHHH!" Dean's scream cut through the ER as the doctor pulled his arm, resetting the shoulder back in it's socket. 'There was no time for local anesthetics,' Dean had informed the doctor, annoyed that he would even consider making Dean wait any longer than was absolutely necessary. Spots danced in front of Dean's eyes as he tried to recover from the pain. His breathing came out in ragged gasps, only aggravated by the bruised trachea from being strangled.

"Give him a sedative," the doctor ordered his nurse calmly. "This is too much for him."

Dean forced himself to pull it together at the mention of the sedative. "NO," he snapped as forcefully as he could muster considering he hadn't sucked in a full breath of air in several minutes. "Just finish stitching me up so I can get back to my brother."

Deciding he would get more cooperation out of the young man by doing as Dean asked than by insisting on his way the doctor yielded. The plan of action would be to multi-task, and as the nurse fitted Dean with a sling for his arm and cleaned and bandaged his knuckles while the doctor stitched up the gash on Dean's forehead.

They'd worked quickly, having Dean ready to leave in a fraction of the time it would normally take, but he barely issued a thank you before he was sprinting back down the hall to Laura and the waiting room. "Any news?" he asked impatiently.

"Nothing. I haven't even seen anyone come out of the ER since you left."

"What the hell is taking them so long? This is a bad sign, a really bad sign!"

"I'm sure they're just being thorough," Laura insisted, guiding Dean back into a chair.

Dean wasn't so sure, and as they sat in silence for the next half hour his mind played terrible tricks on him, flashing every possible scenario at him. He'd been so deep in thoughts about Sam that he barely heard Laura's hesitant voice break through his nightmare.

"That thing...it wasn't human, was it?" Laura asked quietly, her eyes darting nervously around the waiting room to be sure no one was listening to their conversation.

Dean shook his head slowly, rhythmically. "Not even close. But I don't know for sure what it was exactly. That's Sam's area of expertise. He does most of the research."

"Sooo I take it that wasn't the first non-human thing you guys have encountered?"

"You got it," Dean monotoned.

"And I guess you guys aren't really private detectives, either."

Dean chose his words carefully. "Not in the traditional sense of the word. People don't really hire us. We're more like freelancers. Most of the time you people have no idea what's really out there, so you can't exactly hire us to get rid of it."

"How did you guys get into this kind of work?" Laura asked, scooting closer to Dean with curiosity.

"It's a long story. One I really don't want to get into right now." His voice alone told Laura to quit with the third degree, but even if she hadn't gotten the hint the image of a doctor emerging from Sam's ER stopped the line of questioning dead. Dean and Laura both stood anxiously, trying to read the doctor's stoic expression.

"Are you with Sam Winchester?" the doctor asked unnecessarily.

"He's my brother. I'm Dean."

"Dean, I'm Dr. Reynolds. Let's have a seat."

"Quit stalling," Dean spat, ignoring the order to sit. "Just tell me. My brother– how is he? Is he OK?"

The doctor sighed and looked at Dean sympathetically. "I'm sorry son."


	4. Chapter 4

**Dean and Sam arrive in a small college town where coeds are mysteriously disappearing, but the aftermath of the hunt leaves the boys struggling with something they never dreamed could happen. Will they be able to deal with the consequences or will the boys finally have to give up the hunt?**

**I do not own Dean and Sam, just the story.**

_OK, so it's a little short, but this is really the best stopping place for tonight. I promise - no cliffhangers this time. I'll write more soon. Thanks again for all the support. You guys make this all worthwhile!_

"Quit stalling," Dean spat, ignoring the order to sit. "Just tell me. My brother– how is he? Is he OK?"

The doctor sighed and looked at Dean sympathetically. "I'm sorry son. Your brother is still alive, but he most certainly is not OK. It was touch and go there for a while. We lost him twice on the operating table. We have him stabilized right now, but he's still in critical condition."

"Oh God," Dean's legs gave out underneath him, and he landed with a loud thud on the chair he'd vacated just seconds before. He buried his head in his hands, consciously forcing himself to breathe. He knew Laura had sat down beside him, placing her hands comfortingly on his back, but her touch felt like it was miles away. He gave himself several long seconds to compose himself before making eye contact with the doctor again. When Dean looked up he found that Dr. Reynolds had seated himself across the aisle and was waiting patiently to explain more.

"OK Doc, give it to me straight. Just how bad are Sam's injuries?"

The doctor pursed his lips, using the pause to decide the order he would explain the injuries. "Right now I'm most concerned with Sam's lungs. He came in with two broken ribs and several cracked ones. One of them punctured his right lung, which is why he was having so much trouble breathing. I've repaired the lung and we have him on a ventilator right now so it can heal without too much strain. He also received a mild concussion, and there was some internal bleeding. That's all under control now, though."

"So he's gonna be fine then, right?" Dean begged pitifully. "I– I mean, after his lung heals and stuff then that's it. He'll be fine."

"Dean, I'm so sorry. There's something else. You're brother, he...uh–"

Dean shook his head forcefully, daring the doctor to be stupid enough to tell him what he didn't want to hear. _No, he's not gonna say it. It's not true. Sammy was just messing with me back at the dorm._ _Sam's gonna be fine. He's got to be. There's just no other way this can happen._

Sadness clouded Dr. Reynolds eyes. This was the part he hated the most. The part where he had to tell families that their loved one would no longer be the same. That a life had been permanently altered because of some cruel twist of fate. "Sam's spine was bruised at T9; that's the ninth thoracic vertebrae of the spinal column, about waist level. He currently has no sensation or movement below that point."

In that split second Dean's world exploded. He didn't hear a word the doctor said after that; just kept repeating those fateful words over and over again in his head. _Sam's spine is bruised. No sensation or movement. NO. No. Nononononononono. This can't be happening. Sam's fine. I just have to wake up. This is a nightmare. If I can just wake up Sam and I will laugh about this and--"_

"Dean. DEAN!" Laura's voice interrupted his rambling and Dean forced himself to turn glazed eyes on his new friend. "Dr. Reynolds wants to know if you want to see Sam."

His neck felt like molasses as he attempted to nod his head. "Yeah," he croaked, finding that he'd suddenly lost his voice. Dean cleared his throat and tried again. "Yes," he agreed more forcefully this time. "I want to see Sam. But I need to get something straight first."

"Of course." Dr. Reynolds sat patiently, offering his full attention. Little did he know the can of worms he'd just opened. It would be a much harder door to close.

Dean spoke slowly, pointedly. "I need to understand how my brother has, in his lifetime, survived God only knows how many broken bones and concussions, knife wounds, gun shots, lethal doses of poisons and so much more, but you're telling me that a bruise – one tiny little bruise – is going to keep him from walking. Tell me how that makes sense!"

The doctor swallowed hard. He'd noticed the many scars tattooed over his young patient's body during the surgery, but he'd never dreamed there could be such a history behind them. "The spinal cord is still a mysterious and undiscovered entity," Dr. Reynolds answered apologetically. There are still so many things we don't know about how it works or why it doesn't heal the way the rest of our body does. I wish I could give you the answers you want, Dean. But the answers just don't exist yet. I'm so very sorry."

"So you don't know?" Dean spat. "You're a doctor! How can you not know? Never mind. Just take me to my brother. I'll get the answers I need without you."

Rising solemnly, the doctor motioned for Dean and Laura to follow him. Not a word was spoken until they arrived outside the door to Sam's room where Dr. Reynolds found it necessary to explain a few more details before granting Dean entrance. "We have Sam sedated right now to give his body time to heal. You can talk to him, but he probably won't be awake to respond. I'll be just out in the hall in case you have any other questions for me."

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he turned the knob to Sam's door. _Thanks, but I'll be saving my questions for someone who can actually answer them_. _I'm sure there are doctors around who didn't get their degrees from clown college. _Dean shut the door behind himself with a soft click, grateful that Laura had understood his need to see Sam by himself. He hadn't yet worked up the nerve to look at Sam, keeping his back to the bed. But now he turned around, and froze. One by one Dean's senses consumed the situation. Dean's sense of smell was the first to awaken and he curled up his nose at the nursing home quality of the air. _Oh man, Sammy we got to get you some room freshener and maybe some cologne. This isn't gonna do anything in the quest for the ladies. _The sounds came second: the steady, rhythmic whoosh of the ventilator as it breathed for Sam, the high pitched beeping to the heart monitor proving he was still alive. Sight was next as Dean's eyes scanned over Sam's motionless body. From Sam's mouth protruded the white plastic mouthpiece of the ventilator, attached to it wasa length of blue accordion tubingsnaking away from his body and hooking to the actual machine. His upper body was bare except for the square of white gauze concealing the newest surgical scar where they'd gone in to repair his lung. A plastic pulse ox machine was clamped to Sam's right index finger, and in the same hand was inserted an IV needle feeding him steady drops of morphine and other medications. The rest of Sam's body was hidden from view, covered by a thin white hospital sheet.

"Man, Sammy, what have you gotten yourself into this time?" Dean asked quietly, sitting down in the chair beside his brother's bed. Taking another glance at Sam's face to make sure his eyes were shut Dean gripped Sam's hand between his own. "How the hell are we gonna get you out of this one?"

As if in answer to Dean's question the heart monitor skipped a beat. "You can hear me, Sammy. I know you can. And I'm telling you right now that I'm gonna figure this one out. I don't care what that quack out in the hall says. I don't care how many cities we have to visit or how many specialists we have to see. You will walk again. Hear me? I'm not accepting anything less than total recovery."

The monitor skipped again and Dean looked up at Sam's face, afraid he might wake up and see the tears that had begun to form in his eyes. Dean wiped at his face angrily, annoyed that his emotions were betraying him. "Just sleep little brother. Let me take care of this. You get some rest."


	5. Chapter 5

**Dean and Sam arrive in a small college town where coeds are mysteriously disappearing, but the aftermath of the hunt leaves the boys struggling with something they never dreamed could happen. Will they be able to deal with the consequences or will the boys finally have to give up the hunt?**

**I do not own Dean and Sam, just the story.**

_Alright, before I go any further with this I just need to add another disclaimer. I will never claim to be an expert on paralysis or the spinal cord, but I've had enough interest in it over the years to become moderately knowledgeable of the subject. I believe what I write to be factual, but I won't dispute the knowledge of anyone who feels they know more on the subject. If anyone notices any blatant errors on my part I want to know about them. As for the bruising, yes, that is a possibility. The uncle of a friend of mine is quadriplegic and on a ventilator all because of a tiny bruise on his cervical spine. It's always seemed the cruelest twist of fate for such a tiny injury to be the cause of so many problems, and it just seemed like the most appropriate way for Sam to be injured. Thanks again for all the reviews and encouragement. I'm having so much fun with this story. I'm like an addict - it's all I can think about. Hope you enjoy the next chapter!_

The sun shone brightly through the window in Sam's room, causing Dean to groan loudly at the irony. How could the day be so perfect outside the hospital when everything was falling apart within its walls. Slowly, painfully, Dean unfolded himself from the chair he'd fallen asleep in, wishing he had accepted the nurses offer for his own bed. His shoulder throbbed, but he had no idea where he'd put the painkillers the doctors had given him last night. Looking over at Sam sleeping peacefully, unaware of what he would be waking up to soon, Dean breathed a sorrowful sigh. _I wish you didn't have to wake up to this Sammy. I wish you could just sleep through all the torment until I manage to find you a cure. _

"Knock knock," Laura peeked her head in the door. "Can I come in?" she asked, forced cheer in her voice.

Dean nodded. His eyes widened gratefully as she held out a huge Styrofoam cup of coffee to him. "You, my dear, are a lifesaver. Now if you could just find my painkillers I think I just might marry you."

Laura winked conspiratorially. "So should we set the date now or do you want to talk about that after your brother wakes up?" she teased, reaching into a drawer in the table beside the bed and pulling out the bottle of prescription pills.

"Name the day, I'll be there," Dean promised.

Laura nodded affirmatively and then turned serious. "There were a couple of police officer's out in the hall looking for you. I managed to stall them for a little while, but I won't be able to hold them off forever. They want to talk to you."

"What did you tell them?" Dean demanded. He hated to sound so suspicious, but he still wasn't sure that Laura could be trusted.

"Just what you told me to say. I told them that I never actually saw the guy, but that I was certain he'd been badly injured before he took off. Give them a few days, Dean. I'm sure things will cool down when the attacks don't continue."

The confidence in Laura's voice did little to comfort Dean, but he provided her with the appreciative smile she deserved. Crossing the room, Dean peeked out of the long rectangular window in the door, scanning the hallway for any sign of the police officers. They were safe for the time being, but Laura was right; they would have to face the cops sooner or later. He and Sam were normally long gone before the questions began. This was going to be a whole new experience, and he wasn't looking forward to dealing with it.

Realizing it was time to change the subject Laura looked over at the still sleeping Sam. "How's he doing?"

"The same. They ceased with the sedatives about an hour ago, so he could wake up at any point now. And the doctors are running some tests to determine if he's strong enough to get rid of the vent as soon as he wakes up."

"Well that sounds promising at least," Laura offered encouragingly. She placed her hand gently on Dean's arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Her warmth and the confidence in her voice allowed Dean to feel hopeful.

"I don't get how you're doing this," Dean sighed.

Laura didn't try to hide her confusion. "Doing what?"

"Taking care of me and my brother. Bringing me coffee and comforting me and lying to the police when I'm sure you still don't understand what the hell happened last night. You're a rock, and yet you just lost a friend. This whole thing's gotta be tearing you up inside."

"There's nothing that I can do for Justine. Helping you and Sam keeps me sane. It proves that her death wasn't meaningless."

He flashed her the first genuine smile he'd yielded since before this whole mess had started. _This girl is amazing_. "Well thank you. You being here really is a help. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it."

A frantic rustling sound interrupted their tender moment and the two of them turned towards the sound. Sam was awake.

"Sam, stop it!" Dean ordered, crossing the room in two long strides and grabbing Sam's hands away from his mouth. Fear and confusion clouded the youngest Winchester's face as he clawed desperately at the ventilator tube in his mouth. He hated the way it felt; the way it seemed to choke him and yet sustain him with oxygen. He hated the fact that it prevented him from talking. But most of all he hated the fact that Dean was determined to prevent him from removing it.

Dean soon learned that Sam's two strong arms, especially in their state of desperation, far out numbered his one. The left arm, still in a sling, was completely useless. "A little help here!" Dean implored, struggling with a distraught Sam. Laura had already pushed the call button to the nurses station and now grasped one of Sam's arms, using all her strength to pin it to his side. _Wow, if he's this strong sedated in a hospital bed I need to remember not to end up on his bad side in a dark alley. _

"Sammy you have to stop this!" Dean demanded, staring down at his little brother. "You're going to hurt yourself. The doctor's coming and he can take that tube out safely. Just calm down and wait. He'll be here soon."

Sam closed his eyes tightly. _Damn you, Dean. Just let me go. Don't you see something's wrong? How could you let them do this to me? How dare you let them put this damn tube in my throat. How the hell could you possibly think this is a good thing. You bastard. _When he reopened his eyes he fixed them to glare at his older brother, but Dean's attention was now focused on the two visitors just entering the room.

"Doc, you gotta take that tube out," Dean insisted. "He's panicking, and I think it's only going to get worse if you leave it in. My brother's strong. Take it out; he'll be fine."

_OK, so maybe I was a bit hasty. Dean's not working against me, he's just trying to protect me. But come on guys, make this quick. Get this damn tube out of my freakin' throat!_

Dr. Reynolds leaned over his young patient, his patronizing smile immediately getting on Sam's nerves. "Your brother seems to think you'll be fine if we take you off the ventilator and I agree with him. So let's get that tube out of your throat, shall we?"

_Yeah yeah, just wipe that smug little smile off your face and hurry it up already. I don't have all day. I've got things to do; places to be._

"OK Sam, I'm going count to three and on three I want you to exhale for me really hard. Just blow out as hard as you can. Can you do that for me?"

_Do I look like I'm five years old? Of course I can blow out. I can suck air in, too. Wanna see?_ Sam simply nodded slightly, just enough of an assurance to get the doctor moving.

As promised, Dr. Reynolds pulled the tube as Sam exhaled. For the next several minutes Sam wondered if he would have been better off leaving the tube in as his body was consumed by a hacking fit. The tube had scratched as it vacated it's position and Sam found it hard to get control of his breathing. The monitors shrieked as Sam tried desperately to breathe normally again. The nurse had stepped in and began spooning small slivers of ice chips into his mouth, soothing his sore parched throat. Dean paced the floor helplessly, wishing there was something he could do to absorb the pain and difficulties that Sam was experiencing.

It was several minutes before he felt confident enough to try and speak. "My chest," he croaked, wrapping his arms around his upper body and wishing he hadn't said even those couple words. His throat felt like someone had spent hours rubbing it with coarse sandpaper and instead of completing the thought mouthed to the nurse 'more ice.'

This was Dean's cue to step forward, realizing there was something he could do for his brother. Practically ripping the cup and spoon from her hand Dean addressed the nurse coldly. "I can take care of him now. Thanks for your help."

She hesitated, but backed away at Dr. Reynolds nod of approval. "I'm going to leave you guys alone for a while," the doctor announced, despite the fact that Dean had already dismissed him. "I'll come back in a while to talk to both you boys."

The door had barely closed before Dean spoke. "Don't listen to a word that idiot says," Dean told Sam, spooning another ice chip into his mouth. "He's gonna come back in here and tell you some things that you won't want to hear, but you should just ignore him. He's wrong. They all are."

Sam's curiosity got the better of him. Risking another burst of pain from his protesting throat Sam opened his mouth. "What's he going to say?" _Well that wasn't quite so bad. It still feels like I swallowed a hundred knives, but now they're just dull dinner knives. _

Dean shook his head emphatically. "It doesn't matter, Sammy. Because they're wrong. They're liars. We're gonna fix this."

"It's Sam," he rasped, glaring at his brother. "And it does matter. I deserve to know what you're keeping from me. Stop babying me. You have to let me deal with my own problems. What are they wrong about? What are we going to fix?" Tears suddenly sprang from Sam's eyes when the realization finally hit him. While he talked he'd been trying to sit up in bed and the move had proven far more difficult than he'd imagined. Difficult enough that Sam had finally given up. "Dean," he said weakly. "Does this have anything to do with the fact that I can't move my legs?"

Dean wouldn't look Sam in the eye. He couldn't. This wasn't a conversation he'd ever wanted to have. In all their years of hunting he'd confronted the idea that their deaths were inevitable, but he'd never imagined there would be a halfway point. He could accept a death. But what was _this_? How could he look his little brother in the eye and tell him that he could possibly spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. Dean rose quickly, slamming the rolling bedside chair angrily into the wall before crossing the room to the adjoining bathroom and slamming the door. He had to compose himself before he could face Sam again.

"Dean! Dean, you have to answer me!" Sam cried, straining his throat even more. "Please don't leave me. Please. Deeeeean!"

_Oh God, Sammy. I can't do this. I can't watch you struggle with this...this thing. Why couldn't it be me? It should be me!_ In the bathroom, safely hidden behind the closed door Dean allowed himself to cry. As he sank to the floor his body convulsed, wracked with the sobs he'd withheld from Sam's view. _Five minutes, _He told himself. _You have five minutes to cry and that's it. After that you can be nothing but strong for Sam. Sam needs you. _

From the far corner of the room Laura had watched the scene unfold in slow motion. Not wanting to get in the way she had remained quiet through the exchange. The brother's had their way of dealing with things and it was none of her business. But now Dean had disappeared and Sam was left scared, alone, and still without answers. As she had done with Dean all night, Laura now crossed the room and placed a comforting hand on Sam's shoulder. The other hand reached out to brush a stray lock of hair out of his face.

"It's OK," Sam assured her, trying to put on a brave face. "He'll be fine. He'll be back."

"I'm not worried about your brother right now. I'm worried about you." Concern emanated from Laura's eyes and Sam found himself feeling very safe with her. His questions went unspoken, but Laura knew exactly what to say. Against her better judgement, she knew Sam needed to know his prognosis. "We've talked with the doctors several times since you were brought in here. You have a bruise on your spinal cord that's preventing you from moving or feeling anything below the waist. They won't give us a straight answer as to whether or not it's permanent, but they say the longer you go without sensation the worse your chances are for recovery. They aren't very hopeful, though. It seems only a handful of people ever fully recover from spinal cord injuries."

"So what happens now?" Sam asked. The lack of emotion in his voice scared Laura.

"We ignore what those quacks out there are telling us and fix this on our own; the only way we know how. The Winchester way." Sam and Laura both looked to the bathroom doorway where Dean now stood, fear and uncertainty replaced by confidence. It was time to battle another demon. The demon known as paralysis.


	6. Chapter 6

**I do not own Dean or Sam, but the creative process is all mine. **

_Here's another chapter for you guys. Keep those reviews coming! I feed off of feedback! Enjoy. Thanks for reading my story. _

Rubbing his tired eyes Dean glanced over at the clock, blinking several times to bring it into focus. The fuzzy green numbers read 2:34 am. Sam was locked in deep slumber, pain and confusion erased for those few sacred hours of escape. But he would wake up again, he always did, and when he woke up it would be back into the world of doctors and hospitals and wheelchairs. As long as Sammy couldnt walk Dean wouldnt be sleeping. He let out an exasperated sigh and then turned back to the open laptop, scrolling to the next page. After several futile attempts to call their father for help, receiving nothing but voicemail and silence Dean had turned to Sams methods. The little laptop was almost foreign to Dean when he'd first opened it up, and Sam had been no help. Denial had consumed his little brother since he'd first woken up, and just that night he'd given in to anger. _At least he's moving through the stages quickly. _But Dean had pressed on, determined to master the laptop before it was too late.

Dean had been at this for the last three days, researching website after website for cures, rehabilitation methods, and explanations of the injury. He'd searched under every keyword he could think of. The computer, which had at one time housed hundreds of bookmarks for supernatural sightings and defense mechanisms, now was a cache of medical jargon. His _favorites_ menu referenced wheelchair options, rehab hospitals, therapy methods. Everything hed read had Dean understanding that a cure was not an option; medical science had not advanced that far. And without their fathers help Dean didnt know where to look supernaturally. That kind of information just wasnt available in cyber space - at least not any legitimate options. Their experience with the faith healer months before meant that that wasnt an option either. Even mentioning the idea to Sam had brought out a moments lucidity in his little brother. _I'm not letting someone else suffer just cause I got hurt,_ Sam had insisted before reverting back into his depression.

But there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Taking a chance on a link, Dean had discovered a sight where patients had recounted determination and rigorous therapy as a means to recovery. Every one of the stories on the sight had resulted in complete recovery. _So theres hope. I knew there was hope. Sammy just has to want it enough._

Dean pressed on, determined to understand more about the therapy methods. Desire alone wouldn't be enough. It was a question of reminding the nerve cells that there was more below the level of injury. And Sam had to allow the hospitals physical therapists to perform their exercises on his legs. If they began to atrophy it would be that much harder to recover. Dean remembered the conversation he'd had two days ago with the PT assigned to Sams case.

_Sam stands a better chance of regaining strength if he would cooperate. He has to want this. Harry, the aging therapist had explained to Dean out in the hallway. Inside, Sam was throwing a fit, refusing to admit there was anything wrong with him, and therefore resisting all advances at doing exercises. Even Dean had failed to get through to Sam._

_So what happens if he doesnt let anyone help him? Dean had asked, soaking up all the information the therapist was giving him. Unlike the doctor, this guy exuded hope. It was his job to get Sammy back on his feet, and in the first minute Dean had met him Harry had admitted that he deemed failure to be unacceptable._

_If he refuses to help, the muscles in his legs will become weaker and stiff. They will shrink from lack of use and he will lose any possibility of walking. Its a hundred times harder to come back from atrophied muscles._

Dean wasn't about to let that happen to Sam. Shutting the laptop with a soft click Dean crossed the room to his brothers sleeping form. _If Sam wont allow us to help him when hes awake then dammit I'm gonna help him when hes sleeping. _Dean ripped the sheets off of Sam and went to work, grabbing one leg the way hed been shown and pulling it, pushing it, and stretching it in an effort to keep the muscles limber. _Range of Motion, _they'd called it. _The muscles need to be worked in the same way that walking and running would work them. It's like exercising without ever getting out of bed. _

"What the hell do you think youre doing?" Sams angry voice cut through the air like a knife and Dean jumped, almost dropping Sams other leg which he'd just picked up.

"I'm doing what you're too chicken to do yourself," Dean retorted, continuing with the exercises despite Sams protests.

"Dean, just leave me alone. If I wanted your help I would have asked for it."

"That's where the problem lies," Dean explained. "By the time you realize you want my help it just may be too late. I'm simply beating you to the punch. Trust me little brother; you'll thank me for this someday."

"You're such a prick."

"And youre a stubborn bastard, Sammy."

"Its Sam." Sam glared at Dean, his anger seething through every ounce of his body. He hated that damn nickname, and right now it felt even more demeaning. The nickname was babyish, and only babies couldn't walk. Babies...and Sam. _Why can't he just leave me alone? Doesn't he realize that every time he touches my legs I'm reminded of the things I can't do anymore? He can feel my legs, but I _cant_! Those damn things; its like they're not even mine. Its like they don't even exist! _"Dean, just back off!" Sam shrieked, swatting at his brother when he bent his numb leg at the knee and stretched it to his chest. Sams ribs screamed at that particular stretch, but he welcomed the pain. He'd never been so grateful to have pain in his life because pain meant nerves were alive. He wished the same pain would appear in his lifeless lower half.

"Dammit Sam, just let me finish and you can go back to sleep. I'll leave you alone for the rest of the night."

"I can't sleep anymore" Sam whined. "You woke me up. Now I wanna get out of here."

"The nurses would be all over my ass if they came in here and found you missing. Besides, It's 3:00 in the freaking morning.

"And I need fresh air!" Sam was practically begging now. Dean never could ignore Sammy's begging, and this time would be no exception. "Please, Dean. You can tell the nurses we're leaving. It's not like I'm asking you to get me out of the hospital – just out of this room. It's so stuffy in here. I hate this place."

Casting a sideways glance at the hospital issue wheelchair shoved ominously in the corner, Dean ran an unsteady hand through is short hair. Harry had spent much of yesterday's therapy session explaining about and teaching Dean the art of transfers, but Dean wasn't so sure he was ready to do one all by himself. His should was still weak, and the idea of accidentally dropping Sam terrified him.

Sam wasn't giving up so easily, though. _If Dean won't help me I'll do it my damn self._ With fierce determination Sam reached above him and clasped the triangular shaped grab bar hanging over his head. He pulled with all his strength until he was finally balanced in a sitting position, propping himself up with one arm locked at the elbow behind his back.

"For pete's sake, Sammy, what the hell are you doing?" Dean had shot to the head of the bed the minute Sam had begun his struggle and he now towered over him angrily. "Are you trying to hurt yourself?"

"I'm just trying to get my life back together," Sam spat. He already had his free arm hooked under the knees of his unfeeling legs, trying to pull them over the edge of the bed inch by inch. "Now you can either get that wheelchair and help me or you can stand there like an idiot. What's it gonna be?"

Dean was in shock. Sam had never talked to him like that before. His little brother knew he'd get a faceful of fist if he ever said anything like that. Apparently Sam knew Dean would never hit him in his current state; he was right. "Fine!" Dean snapped, dragging the chair beside the bed. Lemme help you." Together, they managed to ease Sam into the chair without any major incidents. Sam reached over the sides of the armrests and grasped the wheels, but it wasn't a comfortable fit. His elbows bumped painfully against the metal of the tall armrests every time he shoved forward and the exertion was too much for his still injured ribs. He stopped before even reaching the door and looked pitifully at Dean.

_Wuss_. Dean rolled his eyes in exasperation but jumped forward to assist his brother. It was necessary to keep up the hardcore older brother exterior, but inside Dean's heart was breaking. _Poor little bastard can't even make it across the room without needing help. Why can't that be me? Why is it always Sam?_

Sam was no happier to be on the receiving end of the assistance. When Dean took the handles Sam pulled his hands in his lap and stared ahead self-consciously. The nurses stared at him with pity as they passed the nurses station, but said nothing when Dean flashed his million dollar smile at them, explaining that they would be going for a little walk. "Take good care of our little patient," one of them drawled in a thick southern accent. _Our little patient_. Sam repeated the words over and over in his head with disgust. _Dean gets to be the ladies man. Look at them; they're drooling all over him like a pack of rabid dogs. And me…I get to be the pitiful little sidekick. They don't see me as anything but a kid in a wheelchair. A poor, pathetic kid who can't even get out of bed without help._ They were rounding the corner to the atrium when rage consumed Sam. Bringing both fists down hard on his dead limbs Sam let out a wild roar, the sound a mixture of pain, anger, and fear. Adding insult to injury, Sam's legs didn't react to the blow which he had been certain would awaken them.

Two of the nurses tore around the corner before Dean even had an opportunity circle the wheelchair and calm his brother down. Upon silent assessment of the situation they arrived at the fact that Sam was not harmed, just angry. They asked no questions, but confiscated the handles of the wheelchair and turned it back toward the room. "We can't have him waking the other patients," one explained haughtily to a protesting Dean.

Sam didn't say a word when the nurses shoved him quickly down the hall, or when they transferred him back into bed, or even when they insisted on injecting him with a fast acting sedative despite Dean's angry protests to the contrary. Anger would always consume him, but he'd moved on in the grief stages. He'd skipped over bargaining, believing no one would answer his pleas, and was now in full stage depression. His life, as he knew it, was over. Sam could care less what anyone did to him anymore, and as he drifted off into a dreamless sleep he wondered if he might be better off ending his life. Ending his emotional trauma.


	7. Chapter 7

**Same old, same old: I don't own Dean or Sam**

_Sooo, I'm the first to admit this chapter isn't my best work, but I really want to fast forward to Sam getting out of the hospital, and I can only do that by tying up a few loose ends. Hope this isn't too bad. _

"Sam, you need to try a little harder. Push for me. Push! I want to feel your heel against my palm." Harry had spent much of the last hour prodding Sam to participate in his therapy. After working on the standard Range of Motion exercises, ROM's for short, Harry had moved on to some harder exercises. For the past 10 minutes he'd been encouraging Sam to fight the inevitability that Harry was stronger than his legs were, demanding he try to move his still very paralyzed legs.

It had been six days. Six very long, trying days of therapy, both physical and emotional, and Sam was drained. The suicidal thoughts he'd had before had disappeared when he realized what his death would do to Dean, but he still had a long way to go to acceptance.

"What's the point of this, Harry?" Sam moped. "You and I both know I can't push back, so why fight it? Gimme a break, man."

"I'll give you a break when you give me one," Harry retorted stubbornly. "Make me believe you're really trying and we'll call it a day."

"That's all I have to do, huh?" Sam scoffed. "Pretend like I care and you'll leave me be?"

"I don't want you to _pretend_ to care. I want you to _care_."

"Sorry man, just don't have it in me today. Come back in a week; maybe I'll be the happy crip you all want to see then."

Dean shot out of the chair where he'd been listening to the whole session and crossed the room, prepared to smack his brother if the need arose. "Sam, you are not a cripple! I'm so sick of you referring to yourself by that term. Are you hurt? Yeah. Is it going to take time to recover? Of course. But _you are going to recover_. There's just no other way about this. I won't let there be."

"I'm so happy for you," Sam sneered. "But _you're _not the one laying in this bed. _You're_ not the one who can't move his legs. It's not _you _who has to deal with all the pitying stares and sympathy that I get from every single person who crosses my path."

"Quit being so unreasonable!" Dean exploded, pacing back and forth across the room.

"I'm not being unreasonable!" Sam screamed back. "I'm being realistic. Someone has to be."

"Whoa!" Harry's voice boomed over top of the shrill ranting's of Dean and Sam. "You boys need to stop this right now. You're acting like children! This isn't healthy." Dean and Sam both froze in place. If they hadn't actually seen Harry speak those words they would have been trembling. It was as if their father had intruded on the sterile hospital room. In an instant Dean and Sam reverted back to childhood ways, quickly apologizing to Harry as though he were, indeed, their father. And for once, Sam tried. He agreed, albeit reluctantly, to give everything he had to his physical therapy.

Satisfied that he'd won the battle, at least for now, Harry returned to the therapy as Dr. Reynolds peeked his head in the door. "Dean, can I have a word with you out in the hall?" he asked, hesitantly. Dean had been more than clear that he wasn't fond of the doctor, so Dr. Reynolds was far from eager to have this conversation.

"What's going on?" Dean demanded as he sauntered out the door behind the doctor.

Dr. Reynolds hesitated, stalling as he picked the best words. "Dean, It's come to our attention that the insurance information you submitted for yourself and Sam when you first came in has expired."

Dean tried his best to put on a shocked face. He had been waiting for this to come up. The insurance wasn't even theirs to begin with. They'd picked the card off of some moron back in Mississippi a couple months ago. _Thank God the idiot just cancelled it rather than reporting his card missing. _They'd never stayed long enough for the insurance bills to catch up with them."What are you saying, Doc? I've paid every installment of that insurance!" Dean could lie convincingly, and one look at the doctor's sympathetic face told him the doc was buying it. _Idiot_.

"The insurance end is yours to deal with, Dean. This hospital will work with you to get all the bills paid on a schedule you can work with. What I'm more concerned with is Sam's rehabilitation process. Most of the rehab hospitals around here are privately funded institutions. They only deal with insurance and up front payments."

"So we'll just have to find one that will let me pay a little every week," Dean answered with conviction, still failing to see the problem.

"There's...only one hospital near here that he can go to," Dr. Reynolds admitted. Adding a little too quickly, "But it's a great hospital. They're very attentive to their patients. And it's a state funded hospital, so you can be approved for grants. You shouldn't have to pay a thing if you can't afford it."

Dean eyed the doctor suspiciously. "It's good, huh?" he questioned, cautiously taking the pamphlet that was held out to him. _Good and free don't usually fall in the same sentence. He's not telling me something. _Dean looked down at the front of the pamphlet. "Stateside Convalescent Home," it read. Politely thanking the doctor Dean turned and headed down the hall to call Laura to see if she could come sit with Sam. There was recon to be done.

---------------

They had no insurance. No way of paying for the state of the art rehab hospital even if the waiting list wasn't weeks long. The only thing available to them was the state run convalescent home. According to the doctor, Sam would get the care he needed, and the state would pick up the tab. Harry hadn't seemed too sure, but he'd stonewalled when Dean asked why. 'Just go check it out for yourself,' Harry had insisted. Make your own decisions.

Arriving at the convalescent home Dean looked down again at the brochure clutched tightly in his hand and rechecked the address. The image on the front looked nothing like the dilapidated building looming in front of him. But the address was the same. This was it. Sam would be released from the hospital in less than a weeks time, and this was the place they planned to send him. Dean walked pointedly through the automatic door, but soon cringed at the sight before him. The large lobby, outfitted with ripped couches and stained tables, was filled with nothing but zombies. The glazed eyes of the geriatric patients haunted Dean as his eyes scanned the room, searching for anyone even remotely close to Sam's age. _What the hell is this place?_ Dean jumped as he felt his arm being clutched tightly. He looked down at the drooling old lady who pitifully whimpered at him. "Where's my Stan?" she repeated over and over again. "Have you seen my Stan?"

He recognized the emptiness in her eyes. It was the same one all the patients here had. It was the same one that Sam had possessed the first couple of days after the accident. But Sam was getting better. He was even laughing a little. These people were...well, they were decaying. There was nothing left of them, nothing but empty shells. _I'll be damned if I let that happen to Sam. There's no way in hell that I'm leaving him in this place. He's better off with me. "_Forget this!" he growled out loud, storming back towards the door.

"Sir, can I help you with something?" Dean spun around at the sound of the first coherent voice he'd heard since entering the lobby. He came face to face with, he assumed, one of the nurses. She didn't look to be much older than Dean, himself, but stress and exhaustion had added a good ten years to her features. "Do you have a patient here?"

"Nnn...no, I don't have a patient here," Dean raged, completely disgusted at the place. He'd just watched an old man with a walker urinate on the floor and then walk right through it, tracking yellow footsteps through the lobby. "I don't ever plan on having a patient her either. My brother stays with me." He turned on his heel and left, leaving the poor, confused nurse staring after him in shock.

---------------

Dean took the long way back to the hospital, opening the car full out on the deserted backroads. He needed time to think, and this was the best way to do it. Sam could only stay in the hospital until his ribs had healed, which would be soon. They couldn't afford a state of the art rehab hospital. Hell, they couldn't even afford a _clean_ rehab hospital. But Dean wasn't equipped to take care of Sam and his needs. They didn't even have a place to stay.

The brakes squealed loudly when Dean slammed down the pedal. He spun the wheel in a sharp arc, turning the car 180 degrees, and then gunned it the hundred or so yards back to the pull off he'd seen. There hadn't been another car the entire time Dean was traveling on this road and everywhere he looked all he could see were trees. This was the perfect place to vent his frustrations. Climbing out of the Impala, Dean only spent enough time to lock the doors before taking off into the woods. He ran. He ran until his lungs burned and his calves screamed and he was sure he couldn't take another step. And then he stopped. And he howled, a deep guttural howl that shook the tree tops and conveyed every iota of pain and confusion and desperation that he'd kept bottled inside since those precious five minutes he'd given himself that first day. Not until he was certain there was nothing left to mourn for did Dean leave his haven, and then he returned to his car and then to Sam. He had answers.

Laura was studying in the corner chair as Sam slept peacefully in his bed. "What happened to you?" she asked in surprise, studying Dean's disheveled appearance. A light smattering of dirt covered Dean's pant legs; thorns and branches had ripped at his clothing and face, and a piece of a leaf still stuck out from his hair. "I thought you went to visit the rehab hospital."

"I did. I'm not leaving Sam there." Dean didn't explain beyond that. Laura didn't need to know that he'd just spent and hour pouring out his feelings to the squirrels and the deer and all the other little wood nymphs.

Somehow, Laura understood his need for privacy. She didn't push, just reached up and removed the leaf. "What are you going to do, then?"

"What I've always done. I'll take care of him myself. We'll be fine. Sam and I have been on our own for a long time now and we've always been fine. I've been doing a lot of research. We'll figure this out."

"Well maybe this will help," Laura said, timidly holding out a plain, unlabeled manilla envelope to Dean.

Curiosity found it's way to Dean's mind as he took the bulging envelope from her hand. He slid his finger under the flap and opened it, eyes popping out at the sight inside. He reached his hand in and withdrew the multiple sheets of green paper, flipping through them quickly. "Laura, there must be over five thousand dollars in here," he cried in disbelief, flipping through the stack of bills in his fist.

"Five thousand three hundred and sixty-two, to be exact," she replied proudly. "And that's just the first installment. Seems the entire campus is so extremely grateful for you boys getting rid of the campus attacker that they gave up their drinking money for the weekend to help you guys out in return."

"They know about us?" Dean asked nervously, stuffing the money back in the envelope.

"It's been all over the papers. But don't worry, nobody knows what the attacker actually was or why you came here. All they know is that you were involved and there hasn't been a single attack since that night. I think your secret's safe."

Dean nodded gratefully. "Thank you. This is...I mean...I– "

There's just one condition, though," Laura interrupted. She knew what he was trying to say, and that was enough.

"Name it."

"You have to realize that you can't help Sam all by yourself. If you're determined to keep him with you I won't stop you; but stay in town. Let me help you help him."

_What was that? I mean, I get that she's trying to help. She's got that whole 'mother hen' thing down pat. But her voice, the intonation, was she flirting with me? Is she propositioning me? She's trying to get to me through Sam...but I think I'm OK with that._ "Alright," Dean agreed. "You've got yourself a deal. We'll stay."

_I've kinda gotten on a Dean kick lately. I'm gonna try to make the next chapter from Sam's point of view. He's not getting nearly enough story time. Sorry about that._


	8. Chapter 8

**Of course, I don't own Dean or Sam. Wish I did...but that's for another site. ho hum. **

_A/N: There's a part of me that feels it necessary to do justice to every little part of Sam's injury and the resulting emotions, but if I started doing that this story could go on for years and I fear I might just bore all of you, my faithful readers, to death. Therefore, in the interest of time and entertainment, I'm taking some poetic license and ignoring the slightly less "drama worthy" subjects. I'd ask you to forgive me, but something tells me you should be thanking me instead. Hehe. As always, thanks for all the encouragement. You have no idea how much I appreciate you taking time out of your own busy reading and writing schedules to read and review my story. And so it continues..._

"They're releasing me? Today?" Panic rose in Sam's voice until it was nothing but a mere squeak. "But I'm not ready. I can't just leave the hospital." He sat stiffly in the new wheelchair Dean had purchased with Harry's input, rolling it backwards and forwards in the paraplegic's version of pacing. Doctor Reynolds had said he could go home, but they didn't have a _home _to go to. Dean had been sleeping at the hospital every night, so they didn't even have a motel. "Where are we going to go, Dean?"

"Dude, Sam, just chill out a bit will ya?" Dean sighed, feigning annoyance at Sam's irrational terror. He wouldn't admit it, but the idea scared him some, too. "I've got this all worked out. Laura insisted we stay in town. She want's to help. And for some ungodly reason Harry seems to look upon you as the son he never had, so he's gonna be helping you with your PT pro bono. So that just leaves renting ourselves a room and putting some food in our stomachs. Nothing to it."

Somehow, Dean's apathetic response did nothing to quell Sam's discomfort. _Dammit Dean, you're so transparent I can see right through you. You may have Laura and the doctor's fooled, but you're just as anxious about this as I am._ "I just don't think I'm ready for this."

"We don't exactly have a choice in the matter, Sammy. As soon as your paperwork comes through, they're kicking you out." _Why do you have to be so stubborn about this Sammy? I'm doing the best I can; but you're not helping matters. _"We need to make sure you have all your stuff together."

"Of course." Sam looked around the room at the piles of medical equipment he'd acquired over the past week and a half. Stacks of bandages, catheters, and pills; props for his therapy efforts, a transfer board, and half fingered gloves to keep his hands from callousing as he propelled the wheels of his new transportation. And then, of course, there was the wheelchair itself. _This isn't _my_ stuff. _My_ stuff is hunting knives and guns loaded with rock salt. _My_ stuff is incantations. _My _stuff is books on demons and monsters and other creatures that go bump in the night. The hell this is _my_ stuff._

"Sam. Sammy!" Dean's voice brought him out of his daze.

"It's Sam. What do you want?"

"I want you to take this." Dean thrust a duffle bag at Sam. He balanced it on his lap. "Start filling it up."

As if in a trance Sam wheeled forward to the dresser. If he was going to pack he was packing familiar stuff, like his clothes. Let Dean deal with the medical crap. He didn't bother to keep the clothes folded, just stuffed them into the bag however they would fit, and finishing in a matter of minutes. Sam threw the packed bag back onto the bed and continued to watch Dean meticulously pack the supplies into another duffle.

"You want to give me a hand with the rest of the stuff, bro?" Dean asked.

"Hadn't really planned on it. Looks like you're doing just fine on your own." The smallest of smirks crossed Sam's face, giving Dean enough reason not to press. If his little brother could find any reason to smile he would take it. He would also take the release papers that the doctor chose to deliver at that minute.

A final once over had Dr. Reynolds issuing his OK. Sam could leave the hospital. Panic returned to Sam, consuming his body and soul. Until now he'd only had to confront hospital staff. But there was a whole world beyond those doors filled with people to stare at him and pity him. In the hospital there were people to help him into and out of bed and help him get dressed. Now it would only be Dean. Could he really give in and let Dean help him with everything he needed? Would he be able to let his guard down enough to admit to Dean he was vulnerable?

"Ready dork?" Dean slung one of the duffel's over his shoulder and threw the other one back in Sam's lap. "Let's get you out of here while the going's good."

Sam wasn't prepared to say 'yes' but he didn't really have a choice. He let Dean push him out of the room and down the hall. Their final stop: the billing department. Dean left Sam several feet away from the clerks desk while he went to clear up their bill and make the first installment of payments. Sam couldn't hear a word that was said, but he watched with curiosity at the exchange between Dean and the clerk. He'd watched shock, confusion, and anger cross his brother's face before Dean came storming back to where Sam sat.

"What happened over there?" Sam questioned.

"Don't worry about it," Dean snapped, jerking the wheelchair a little too quickly in his effort to leave.

"Dean, I'm not a little kid. They're my hospital bills. I think I should know what's going on with them."

"They don't exist any more. Someone paid them already."

"Well that's great," Sam piped up eagerly. "Why are you so pissed– ohh." The realization struck him like a slap in the face. "It was Dad, wasn't it."

Dean grumbled under his breath, barely audible to Sam. But Sam got his answer. "Bastard couldn't even be bothered to call and find out how you're doing, but he's got the nerve to pay off the bills as though that's gonna make his absence alright. He's got no right."

_Dad didn't even ask about me. He should have come. He should have at least called. It's obvious he got the messages, so why couldn't he be bothered to check on me?_ "So Dad knows about me?" Sam asked weakly.

Dean steamed. He was so mad at his father he could spit nails, but Sam didn't need to be worrying about that. Dean wiped the emotion from Sam's view, burying it deep within his subconscious,and squeezed his brother's shoulder. "Don't let it get to you, Sam. The man only cares about himself. You've got me, and that's all that matters. Let's get you into this car."

They had arrived at the Impala, parked right out in front of the hospital. Dean quickly tossed the two duffels into the back seat and pulled out the transfer board, handing it to Sam. "Ready for this?"

"No. But I've got to start somewhere." Sam took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the task. He lifted the handle of the chair out of the way and removed his feet one at a time from the foot rests, flipping the rests up as he went.

Dean stood over him, arms crossed nervously, feeling helpless. "I'm here for you if you need me."

Sam didn't answer. He was concentrating too hard on his transfer into the car. The transfer board, a polished rectangle of wood that was used to slide his body from one surface to another had been slipped under his butt and Sam was pulling himself, inch by inch, towards the passenger seat of the Impala. Success was finally his when he settled triumphantly into the center of the seat and shoved his arm under his left knee, pulling the leg into the car. As Sam moved on to the right leg Dean collapsed the wheelchair and stuffed it into the backseat along with the duffel bags. The first challenge had been fought...and won. Sam smiled in spite of himself; he'd just proven that he wouldn't need Dean for everything.

Dean used the time it took to circle the car to deal with his own emotions. It wasn't that he wasn't proud of his little brother for accomplishing the transfer on his own. He was immensely proud. But he also couldn't help mourning for the life his brother had lost. Leaving the hospital made this whole thing all too real.

"Alright, let's get this show on the road." Dean had erased the emotion from his face before climbing into the car. "What do you want to do first? Food or shelter?"

Sam didn't have to think twice. "Shelter," he answered without hesitation. "I'm exhausted."

Dean started the car, gunning the engine as he sped out of the hospital complex. _It feels so good to be back in this car again_, Sam thought to himself. _I've really missed this. _Sam stared out the window as they rolled through the city. Having talked to Laura about available motels, Dean already had a good idea where they would be going. Their destination took them right through the heart of the campus, dredging up the few memories the town had created for Sam. The little deli they had eaten at the first day seemed to pop out at him first, and Sam couldn't help noticing the two steps that led to the front door. They were two steps that had been climbed without a seconds thought that day, but now they mocked him. _Guess we won't be eating there any time soon. Not inside, anyway. _And there, across the street loomed the ominous Weston House. He would have nightmare's about that place for years. _Don't think I'll be going in there anytime soon either. Damn this place. Damn this town. Why the hell did I have to be so insistent that we check out those attacks. We could be halfway across the country by now, far away from this god-forsaken nightmare if I'd just kept my bloody suspicions to myself. _

"You OK over there? You're awfully quiet." Sam glanced over at his brother, worry etched all over his face. Dean wasn't stupid. He knew what Sam was thinking about. He'd seen the anguish that consumed Sam as they drove through the campus. He'd felt it himself.

"Yeah," Sam replied far too quickly. "Of course. I'm fine. Just thinking."

"You're sure?" Dean didn't look convinced.

"Positive." Sam's emotionless voice did little to aid in conforting his older brother.

Dean eyed Sam, still suspicious. "Because you know I'm not much for the chick flick moments, but I'm willing to give it a go...if you need to talk."

"Dammit, Dean, I said I'm fine," Sam exploded. "Just drop it already, will you?"

The rest of the drive was made in uncomfortable silence. Dean spent it moping. Sam had just snapped at him. Here he was giving Sam the perfect opening to spill his guts, an opportunity Sam was constantly nagging him for, and his little brother had refused. Sam's silence was more due to his inability to express in words the way he felt. He knew it was a rare opportunity for Dean to solicit emotions, but he just wasn't ready to talk. No matter how much he wanted to, Sam just couldn't give Dean what he wanted, nor could Dean give Sam what he needed.

Dean pulled the car into the carport beside the motel office, getting out and slamming the door without a word. Sam flinched. _Dean's pissed. Why the hell should I feel guilty just because I don't want to talk? I'm the one who got hurt. I'm the one who has to deal with this. Why should I make this any easier on him?_

The young clerk barely glanced up as Dean entered the lobby, a bell over the door announcing his presence. "I need to get a room," Dean announced, leaning against the tall counter. "We'll be staying a while."

"Not a problem. You need smoking or non?" The boy still refused to look up, but turned to the computer on his desk and began typing.

"Non. Two beds."

"How are you paying for this?"

Dean pulled out the envelope Laura had presented him. "It'll be cash. I'll pay a week in advance."

"Anything else you need?"

Dean's voice betrayed him, choking on the words. "It– it needs to be handicapped accessible. M– my brother's in a wheelchair." _There. I said it. First time's the hardest and I said it. _

Unimpressed, the bored clerk tapped a few more buttons on his keyboard, took the cash, and then handed Dean the keys to the room. "Room 9," he intoned. "It's on the bottom floor. There's a ramp just to the left of the room. Anything else you need, just ask."

"Th– thanks." With nothing more he needed to do Dean had no choice but to return to the car and Sam. _We're starting fresh. If Sam doesn't want to talk I'm not gonna force him to. I should be glad he doesn't want to talk. _

Dean plastered a smile on his face as he climbed back into the car. "We've got a room," he announced with far more enthusiasm than was necessary.

Sam nodded. "Terrific."

After parking the car in front of their new home Dean and Sam reversed the process they'd executed in front of the hospital. Sam's second transfer attempt was just as successful as the first and he was soon steering the wheelchair up the shallow ramp towards their room. Dean followed, laden down with all their luggage. Stepping around his brother, Dean unlocked the door to their room and swung it open wide for Sam to enter, confused as he watched his brother's face fall.


	9. Chapter 9

**Standard Disclaimer: I own neither Dean nor Sam. **

_Hey guys! Thanks again for all the great reviews. I'm so excited about this chapter. I had totally meant for it to go another direction_, _but the words began to flow and this is the result. Hope you guys enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it. _

Stepping around his brother, Dean unlocked the door to their room and swung it open wide for Sam to enter, confused as he watched his brother's face fall. "What the hell is this, Dean?"

For once Dean's confusion was genuine. "This is our room, Sam. What did you expect?"

"What the hell are you trying to pull? Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Sam stormed the room, his eyes darting in every direction before he swung around and faced his brother angrily.

"Sam, I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. Notice what? It's just a hotel room. What the hell's your problem?" Dean's exasperation was clearly evident as he pleaded with Sam to explain the source of his emotion.

"This isn't like any room we've had before," Sam snapped. "Look at it! It's huge! And there are bars everywhere. And that bathroom. What the hell is with the tub? There's a freakin' seat! What did you tell him? What kind of room did you ask for?"

Dean couldn't help himself. He had to laugh. He didn't want to, but he had no choice. It just enveloped him. Sam's tormented face was just too much as he had realized the room was handicapped accessible. "What did you expect, Sam?" Dean asked, struggling to keep his amusement to himself.

Sam glared at his brother, the chuckling not going unnoticed. "It's not funny, Dean. What were you thinking?"

Collapsing on the corner of one of the beds, Dean rolled his eyes at Sam. "Dammit, you idiot, I'm trying to make things easier on you. There's more room to maneuver in here. Whether you like it or not you need this room. This room was designed specifically for people who are...are par– who are injured like you are."

"Say it, Dean!" Sam demanded. "Just say it. Say the word! Paralyzed. I'm paralyzed! Rooms like this are going to be the norm from now on! Say it!" Sam hesitated, waiting for Dean to reply, but silence was the only sound that greeted him. "You can't...can you. CAN YOU?"

Dean shook his head sorrowfully. This was it. Sam was gonna let it all out. Struggling with everything he had, Dean kept his temper under wraps as he replied calmly, "I'm not _going_ to say it. Because it's not true. This is just a temporary setback. You've fought bigger demons than this and won...you'll beat this thing too. I believe in you, Sam."

"You believe in me?" Sam mocked. "That's so sweet, Dean. You _believe_ in me. This isn't a paper cut, Dean. I can't just brush it to the back of my memory and expect it to go away in a few days. This is a goddamn spinal cord injury! You did the research. You're the one who spent hours at a time in front of that damn lap top. You said yourself the spine doesn't regenerate the way the rest of the body does. You said yourself the only way this can get better is if I fight with everything I have, and even then there's no guarantee. So what's the point in even trying?" Tears ran down from the younger boy's eyes, staining his cheeks. His body shook from pure exertion as he balled up his fists, pounding them violently against his legs, punishing the unfeeling limbs for betraying him.

"Stop it, Sam!" Dean jumped from the bed and crossed to Sam in one stride, grabbing his wrists in a firm hold. "Don't do this to yourself. This isn't helping."

"Nothing's helping!" Sam struggled to free himself, the wheelchair, brakes forgotten, rolling around on the floor and making it impossible for Sam to brace himself enough to win the battle. "Let me go Dean! I don't want your help. You're the one who got me into this mess in the first place. This is your fault, Dean!"

Dean let go of Sam's wrists as though they'd just burned him. "How can you say that? This was your gig. _You're _friend. I'm sorry this happened to you, Sammy, but for once I didn't have anything to do with it."

A low, guttural growl escaped from the young hunter's throat. "It's _Sam_. Get it through your head, Dean! My name's not _Sammy_. It's not _Samuel._ The name is _SAM!_ And like _hell_ this isn't your fault." Free of his brother's grasp, Sam backed the wheelchair up with such force he knocked over the freestanding lamp beside the desk. Neither of them paid any attention to it, though, as Sam raged on. "You may not have brought us to this particular job, but you're the one who was so jealous of me being in school that you had to drag me back into this hunting thing in the first place. I would have been perfectly happy finishing my education and getting myself a nice normal job in some nice normal town. But _noooo_ you and Dad spent so many years obsessed with finding the thing that killed mom and you wouldn't be happy until all three of us were out there hunting for it. This never would have happened if you had just left me alone!"

The blow hit him like a jackhammer, slamming into his chest. Heart pounding violently, Dean fought back the tears that threatened to fall. There it was. Sam's true feelings. This time he couldn't blame the words on a wacked out doctor possessing him, either. He had said those words on a fully functioning, coherent brain. "So that's how you feel about me?" Dean asked flatly. He was so afraid his emotions would betray him he had to force a breath between each word.

"Yeah! That's how I feel! You and Dad are two of the most selfish bastard's I've ever met in my life. You can rot in hell for all I care! It should be you in this chair. It should be you."

Wiping angrily at his face, cursing the finally falling tears as they revealed his own feelings, Dean turned his back to Sam. He jerked his hood down over his eyes and pulled the door back open. "I don't think you know what you're saying, Sam." Dean wished it were true, but he only said it to give Sam an out later. "You're hurting, and you're just taking your anger out on me because I'm here. I understand that. But I don't have to like it." He paused, debating whether or not to open himself up to his brother. Deciding it was worth it, he added quietly, "For what it's worth, Sam, I would trade places with you in a heartbeat. You don't deserve what's happened to you, and I would bear every once of pain and humiliation you're feeling if I could." With a final sideways glance at his brother, Dean disappeared out the door, leaving Sam alone.

Sam groped blindly on the desk beside him. His hand closed tightly around the television remote and in one fell swoop he tossed it violently at the door as it shut with a resounding echo. "Damn you Dean! Damn you!" The remote shattered into thousands of tiny little pieces. Sam stared mournfully at them. _Well isn't that fitting. Shattered. Just like my life. It isn't fair. I've done everything right! I've been a good person! I saved lives. I killed demons. My whole life has been about doing the right thing. But mom still died. And then Jess. And now...this. What the hell did I do to deserve this?_

The fight was gone in him. He had nothing left but sorrow, and Sam let the feeling devour him like a lion hunting down a wounded gazelle. His head drooped, landing with a dull thud in his open palms. Tears flowed freely as his eyes swelled and his body heaved with unbidden sobs. Everything in his life was falling apart, and he'd just run off his single lifeline. The one person on this planet who believed in him, who loved him unconditionally, yet Sam had gone too far. Dean had left, and Sam had no idea if he was ever planning on returning. He couldn't blame Dean if his older brother decided to just hop in his car and drive. Leave this town, and Sam, and simply disappear. It's what he deserved. He'd said so many hateful things. Things he could never take back no matter how hard he prostrated himself at Dean's feet, begging for forgiveness. He'd ruined everything.

Dean stormed away from the hotel in a violent rage. His first reaction had been to go to the car, but when he pulled the handle of the locked car he remembered the keys. Keys, which were sitting innocently on the bedstand, inside the hotel room, where Sam was. _I'll be damned if I'm going back in there. I won't give him the satisfaction. Probably shouldn't be driving anyway. Second best way to vent anger is to exercise. Safer, too._ As he'd done days before, he took off, breaking into a full gallop within seconds. It felt great to feel the crisp air hitting his face and blowing through his short, brown locks, but try as he might he couldn't get Sam's words out of his mind.

_He didn't mean it. It was the anger talking. He's just confused. _The words raced through Dean's mind trying to comfort him. But when he found the attempt to be profoundly unsuccessful, Dean tried saying them out loud. "He didn't mean it. He didn't meant it." His lips repeated the phrase in rhythmic pant as Dean slowed to a steady jog. "He's my brother...and I love him. He's just hurting." _How would you react if it were you sitting in that chair? You'd probably do the say thing. Say the same thing. Besides, the little jerk is right. This mess is my fault. I'm his big brother. It' s my job to_ _protect him. It's always been my job. And I failed him. I FAILED him. I'm so sorry Sammy...Sam._ _He want's to be called Sam. It's the least I can do. Isn't it? Sam. Sam. _Dean stopped running, and collapsed, the mental exhaustion beyond overwhelming. He fell to his knees, right there in the middle of the road, and gave up the fight. If his body wanted to cry then let it cry. Few cars had passed him as he ran, and Dean felt subconsciously grateful for the deserted streets that defined the outskirts of this town. It was one thing to bawl like a baby, but another thing entirely to do it in front of an audience. Daylight turned to dusk as Dean sat in the street, mourning. _What the hell am I supposed to do now? I don't want to go back. But Sam needs me. Whether he wants to admit it or not, he needs me. _

Dean stood with renewed conviction. _Let the bastard hate me. He can hate me all he wants. Let him use that rage to get better. I don't care what he needs as long as he uses it to walk again. Right now, that's all that matters. We'll deal with the rest when he's better._ Walking slowly back to the motel, Dean spent the time convincing himself he'd made the right decision. He had a temper the size of the Grand Canyon, and he'd basically committed himself to keeping it under wraps, suppressing the rage to a minimum so that Sam could initiate all the fights without carrying any of the guilt that Dean could rain down on him. He was going to make this work.

It was completely dark when Dean arrived back at the hotel. Groping in his pocket for the hotel key, Dean leaned against the door. He felt defeated, as though he'd fought an entire army of demons and lost miserably. There might as well be an enormous black and blue bruise decorating his entire body because there wasn't an inch of him that felt untouched by Sam's wrath.

Dean reached for the doorknob, but pulled away before he could turn it. He backed up, turned angrily and then walked back to the door, making another attempt at opening it. "Damn it, I just can't do this!" He spat as he reeled away from the door for the second time.

"So are you gonna do that all night, or do you think you'll go in at some point?" The gruff voice cut through the darkness as Dean spun around to face the intruder.

"You Dean?" the voice asked. Dean could make out the glowing tip of a cigarette in the shadows across the parking lot, the silhouette of a man's face was framed in the minimal light the cigarette provided.

Dean nodded suspiciously. "Yeah, I am. And you are?"

"Your neighbor. I'm in eight." The man nodded his head towards the door to the right of Dean's room, crossing the parking lot to his young neighbor.

"How do you know my name?"

"Walls aren't exactly soundproof. I heard every word of your argument. You're brother's really pissed off."

Dean shrugged. "It's been a hard couple of weeks for him. He doesn't know how to deal with it."

"Just gotta give him some time," the man reassured Dean. "He'll get over it. Kid really loves you, ya know."

"How do you know?" Dean demanded.

"I could hear it in his voice. After you left, he called your name for like an hour. Kept crying about how sorry he was and how he didn't mean anything he'd said. I think he was afraid you'd gone for good. He's been quiet for a while now, though."

"You think he's OK?" Dean asked in a panic.

"Oh yeah, kids fine. Crashing stopped long before he stopped crying. But I had the clerk open the door a little bit ago anyway...just to check on the kid. He's sleeping. You should probably get in there, though. Can't be too comfortable sleeping in the position."

Dean nodded, grateful that the man had been concerned enough to check on Sam. "Thanks. I think I will." Again, he approached the door, this time succeeding in turning the knob and opening the door a crack.

"Oh, and Dean," the man called back to him as he entered his own room.

"Yeah?"

"Go easy on the kid."

Dean smiled in affirmation. "Right. I will." He closed the door behind him, turning on the light and froze. The room was in shambles. Sam had been busy. His feet crunched loudly as he walked over the shattered pieces of remote that lay in front of the door. Several feet away the lamp Sam had backed into during their argument still lay on its side, the shade crushed and the bulb, still in the socket, broken. The room phone lay off the hook beside the bed, the cord pulled from the wall, and the phone book was torn to shreds all over the floor between the two beds. Fragments of another lamp, which once had a lovely etched clay base, were scattered all over the floor near the bathroom. The TV, miraculously still intact, lay on it's side, silently blinking a black and white static image. The contents of both Sam's duffel bags were strewn all over the floor, but the bottle with his precious pain pills sat spilled on the desk beside a sleeping Sam in his wheelchair.

"This is gonna cost a fortune," Dean muttered to himself as Sam stirred.

The groggy face of Sam Winchester looked up at his brother through swollen eyes. "Dean? You came back." He closed his eyes again, fighting a losing battle against the power of medication.

"Yeah, little brother. I came back. Of course I came back." Strong arms scooped Sam up, out of the wheelchair. Sam looped his arms lethargically around Dean's neck and allowed his brother to carry him the short distance to the bed. Dean placed the boy gently down on the bed and slowly undressed him and then redressed him in pajamas. As he pulled the covers up to Sam's chest the young man opened his eyes up again.

"Dean," Sam whispered, dazed. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"I know, Sam." Dean stooped down and began cleaning the mess of paper scattered all over the floor. He had to occupy himself.

"Dean, I mean it," Sam insisted. "I'm sorry.

"Me too, Sam. Me too."


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own the Winchester boys, no matter how often my dreams lead me to a different conclusion. Darn. **

_Hey guys! Wow, talk about some serious writer's block. I know where I'm going with this story, but I felt I needed just a few fillers to get to that point. Unfortunately, they just didn't want to be written, and coming off of last chapter, I just couldn't get it even near the quality. It might be a little choppy, but this should get us to where I want to be. Hope you don't have any problems following it. Thanks again, so much for all your touching reviews. I'm so glad you liked the last chapter - I think it was my favorite, too. Please keep reading; it will pick up again in the next installment. I promise. _

Dean awoke first, his stomach protesting loudly from its unexpected fast the day before. It had been close to 24 hours since any food had passed his lips, and he was famished. As quietly as he could, Dean dressed and snuck out of the room.

Across the street from the motel, Dean had his pick of fast food restaurants. Selecting one, he ordered six breakfast sandwiches, hashbrowns, and 2 extra large orange juices, ignoring the strange look the girl at the counter was giving him. _Even if I did plan on eating them all myself, what business is it of yours?_

It was the rustling of the bags and the smell of the greasy food that brought Sam around, and he sat up, bracing himself with his elbows, as he squinted at Dean through eyes still swollen from their sob fest the day before.

"Morning," Sam said timidly. A knot formed in his throat as he watched Dean stiffen. However involuntary the reaction, it still told Sam a lot. Dean was still hurt by his hatful words.

"Here, I brought you some breakfast," Dean said, through a facade of light-heartedness. He tossed the bag with three of the sandwiches and an order of hashbrowns onto the bed. "Eat up. You need your strength."

Through the corner of one eye Dean saw Sam pull himself further up the bed so he could lean against the headboard as he ate. He hated the way Sam had to strain, his uncooperative legs following lifelessly behind as he dragged himself into position. _So much effort for such an everyday task. Kinda makes you realize how much stuff we take for granted. _

Sam unwrapped the first sandwich and ate it greedily. He's forgotten how long it had been since the last time he ate, and the greasy food tasted exceptionally good to his barren stomach. He savored every last bite of the packaged heart attack-waiting-to-happen.. They ate without speaking, the only sounds those of chewing and slurping. But the food was soon gone, and the silence became deafening.

Taking the undesired lead, Sam broke the silence. "Dean...about yesterday."

"I don't want to talk about it _Sam,"_ Dean was quick to interject.

Sam flinched. He hadn't missed Dean's blatant emphasis on his name. Dean had granted Sam's request, but the triumph felt far from triumphant. Sam let several more minutes pass before he tried again.

"Are we OK?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" Dean snapped, but he turned this time, getting a good look at his brother's hopeful face, and sighed. "We're as good as we can be...under the circumstances. Just give me some time to forget. OK?"

A flicker of relief passed over Sam's face as he nodded. "OK."

As Dean set off for the sink to brush his teeth, Sam chewed nervously on his bottom lip. Dean was on edge, so he had to plan his words perfectly. He had two problems; one, his wheelchair sat halfway across the room, where Dean had left it when he carried Sam to the bed the night before, and far out of Sam's reach. For the time being, he was trapped helplessly on the bed. Two, Sam had come to the realization that proper hygiene was long overdue. The sponge baths he'd gotten at the hospital, though sexy as hell being given by those cute little nurses, just wouldn't do any more.

"Dean?" Sam squeaked nervously.

"What, Sam?" There was the flatness in his voice. It had become the thing to do; keep the emotion out of his voice. Keep Sam guessing.

"I, uh...I...need a shower," He said, finally spitting out the words as though he were asking a question.

"So take a shower," Dean replied matter-of factly. He never turned around.

"Well that's just it," Sam continued meekly, stammering. "At the hospital the nurses...well they never really got around to showing me how to...you know..." Sam's face flushed a brilliant beet red as he trailed off.

Dean understood, though. "Awwww, Sam," Dean protested, rolling his eyes. But he didn't take it any farther than that. Proud as he was, Dean knew his little brother would never be asking for help of this magnitude if he truly didn't believe it warranted help. The humiliation was written undeniably across Sam's face.

"It's just that the soap and water make things so slippery, and my balance isn't all that great yet. I don't want to fall." Sam was looking everywhere but at Dean, avoiding any possibility of making eye contact with him.

"Yeah, Sam. I'll help you. I'll get you in there. And I'll make sure you don't fall. But you're washing yourself," he added quickly.

Sam pushed the wheelchair forward into the spacious bathroom, eying the tub nervously. "Who woulda thought," he said, half to himself, half out loud. "I've faced all those demons without blinking an eye, and yet here I am...nervous about taking a freakin bath." However, Sam's vague attempt at humor did nothing to alleviate his fears. The tub still stared menacingly at him, taunting him.

"So what do we do first?" Dean questioned, hands crossed awkwardly across his chest.

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. You're the one who's been doing all the reading up on this subject. What do all your pamphlets and website's tell you?"

Dean racked his brain, the uncomfortable feeling of the situation clouding his mind. "I guess you gotta get undressed and into that seat, first," he answered, unsure if it was logic talking or something he'd read. Everything had jumbled in his mind. It was the most studying Dean had done in, well, ever.

Sam pulled off his shirt without difficulty, but Dean had to help him with the shorts, and then lifted him under his armpits and swung him gracelessly onto the stool. Sam sat naked and shivering on the bath stool, waiting for Dean to get the water temperature right. "Here, at least cover yourself up down there," Dean ordered, tossing a towel to Sam. "I'm willing to help you, but I'm sure as hell not looking at the full monty for this whole thing. It's weird enough as it is."

Grateful for the towel, Sam laid it across his lap and waited less than patiently for Dean to get everything set up. "It's not like this is a picnic for me either. Never in my wildest nightmares did I expect I'd be getting a bath from my big brother at 22."

The water felt so good pounding against his back and shoulders, and for the first five minutes Sam simply sat, reveling in the beating massage of water drops. It seemed like years since he'd experienced that pleasure. Dean's annoyed voice brought Sam back to reality. "Sam, get a move on. This is really uncomfortable for me. Can we just get this over with?"

"Fine." Sam reached to the edge of the tub for the washcloth draped over the side, feeling secure with Dean's strong hand bracing his shoulder.

xxxxxxx

An hour later Sam was clean, dressed, and again sitting in the torture trap the rest of the world called a wheelchair. He stared blankly at the TV, absently massaging his thighs, the fact that the set wasn't even on failing to register in his mind. Dean had returned to his zombie like trance in front of the laptop, still searching for anything that could help, his earlier awkwardness replaced by determination. Sam was blatantly ignoring Dean's suggestion that he work on his exercises, having stubbornly replied _Harry's gonna be here this afternoon. I'll wait._ So, it was silence that they now sat in; pure, unadulterated silence.

They both jumped when Dean's cellphone rang. Sam listened to Dean's end of the conversation, alternating between annoyance and relief as he answered Laura's questions about their first day out of the hospital. Dean had been kind enough to leave out the part about their argument, but that pretty much left him with _We checked into the hotel, I went for a jog, and when I got back I put Sam to bed._

Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed with himself for sounding so pathetic. _What kind of man has to have his brother put him to bed? That's just great. She must think I'm a total wimp, now._

Hanging up the phone, Dean looked nervously at his little brother. "Sooo, uh...we're gonna meet Laura for lunch."

Sam glared at Dean. "Like hell we are. I'm not going out in public in this thing."

"You don't have a choice, Sam, my boy. I'm not leaving you here alone again, and I want to see Laura. Beside's you have to eat."

_Who the hell does he think he is? _"I'm not a baby, Dean. I can take care of myself."

"Our little group shower an hour ago tells me differently," Dean mocked. "I'll carry you to the car if I have to, but you're coming. Think of it as the first step in paying me back."

Sam blushed. _Why does he have to rub it in? It's not like I wanted his help. _"Alright, fine. I'll go. But we eat and leave. You two want to talk, you bring her back here."

Dean nodded. "Deal. Let's get moving."

Sam wheeled through the door to the diner, filled with apprehension. Was it his imagination, or had every eye in the place just turned to him and stared. Was that sympathy? Pity? Curiosity? Immediately feeling self-conscious, Sam dropped his eyes to his chest, avoiding eye contact. In the meantime, Dean spotted Laura and joined her at the table, leaving Sam alone to confront the gawkers. Still not looking up, Sam pushed forward, following his brother's feet to the table. The aisles were small, and the restaurants patrons had spread out, not considering Sam's needs. He made it just a few feet before running into the first obstacle, a chair pushed halfway out into the tiny aisle. Its occupant, a young male collegiate, eyed Sam nervously as Sam muttered 'excuse me,' but quickly scooted the chair in so he could pass.

"Sorry, buddy," the kid had replied, angering Sam. He'd noted the tone of condescension, or had he imagined it. Either way, Sam felt belittled.

Sam continued past the kid, cursing Dean and the restaurant. _Why the hell did he have to make me come? Why does this place_ _have to be so small? Could she have possibly chosen a table further away from the door?_ A shrill 'oww' interrupted his thoughts this time, and Sam looked up just in time to see a waitress hopping slightly, pain written across her face. He'd just run over her toe, and the canvas shoes she wore had done little to protect it.

"I'm so sorry," Sam stammered, his face turning red for the third time that day. "I uh, I'm still getting used to this thing."

"It's alright, honey," the waitress replied in a thick southern drawl. "I didn't need that toe anyway. Got me another nine, should do me just fine. Here, doll, why dontcha let me give you a hand over to your table. Where ya sittin?"

"Over there," Sam replied weakly, pointing to the table where Dean was already deep in mating ritual with Laura. His brother was determined to get some ass that night, and Sam be damned.

"Well let's just get ya over there and get some nourishment in that stomach of yours. Little good ole' fashioned country style food is just what you need."

The waitress delivered Sam safely to the table as Dean looked up, almost surprised to find his brother was only just getting there. Laura turned to face him too, a bright smile lighting up her face. "Sam! I'm so glad you came. How are you?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Everyone's in my way, and I just ran over that poor waitresses toe," he replied sarcastically. "You tell me how I am."

Dean's head shot up, glaring at his brother as he uttered his name in warning. "Saaam."

Humility took control and Sam dropped his head in shame. "I'm sorry Laura. It's just been a hard couple of days. I didn't mean to snap."

Laura smiled warmly at Sam, understanding filling her face. "No need to apologize, Sam.

I can't say I'd react any differently if I were in your shoes." She turned to Dean. "Cut your brother some slack."

Sam reverted back to silence, deciding that would be the easiest way to get through lunch. The only time he spoke was to order his food. The rest of the time was spent listening to Dean flirt mercilessly. _How can Dean be so quick to get back to normal life? How can he just sit there and pretend like he doesn't see the giant white elephant sitting in the room? Nothing is normal any more! God, this sucks._

xxxxxxxxx

Later that night, after Harry had left and they'd finished their dinner Dean left Sam in front of the TV while he and Laura went outside for some privacy. Laura had requested a walk, but Dean insisted he didn't want to leave Sam. He wasn't willing to go any further than the parking lot. As much as he wanted to be alone with Laura, Sam wasn't yet ready to be left alone all night. His suspicions were confirmed a couple hours later as he and Laura sat, deep in conversation, on the ledge outside the motel. A loud thud resounded from inside room 9, followed immediately by a loud yell. "Deeeeeeean!"


	11. Chapter 11

_Hey guys! So I think I'm back on track again. No more writer's block! Yay! Thanks again so much for all your reviews It definitely helps me out to see so positive feedback. I'm humbled. You guys are awesome! On with the story. ...Oh, yeah. Don't own Sam or Dean. _

A loud thud resounded from inside room 9, followed immediately by a loud yell. "Deeeeeeean!"

The fraction of a second it took for Dean to jump to his feet and tear into the room felt like an eternity to the older Winchester. "Sam!" _Sammy's in trouble. I'm coming Sam!_ Dean burst through the door, terrified at what he might find. The actual sight did little to comfort him.

Sam lay prone on the floor of the dingy motel room, his transfer board still teetering on the edge of the bed he'd been attempting to move onto. The wheelchair lay on its side, on top of Sam's right leg. The top wheel continued to spin as though controlled by an unseen force. The covers of the other bed were messed up, pulled halfway off from Sam reaching out and grabbing at them, trying to break his fall.

It took Laura only slightly longer to arrive in the doorway, and together, she and Dean crossed the floor to where Sam lay, panic on their faces. "Sam, what the hell were you thinking?" Dean cried, tossing the wheelchair to the side in a frantic attempt to un-bury his baby brother.

"I was trying to go to bed," Sam answered. "It didn't seem like you'd be coming in anytime soon, so–"

"So you thought you'd get me in here faster by throwing yourself on the floor?" Dean asked, his need to turn everything into a joke still dominating despite the tense qualityof his voice.

"I didn't want to bother you."

As Dean slid his arms under Sam's armpits and lifted the younger boy to the bed he began to scold him, but stopped short when he saw Laura. She was smiling. _What the hell? This isn't funny. He could have been hurt. _Dean faced Laura, a stern glare his expression, but once again stopped when he realized that not only was she smiling, she was laughing. Odder still, she wasn't laughing alone. Having released Sam to the safety of the bed, Dean was free to look at his brother's face. Sam was laughing too, a smile plastered playfully across his face. It was obvious that Laura didn't know why she was laughing. She was just following Sam's lead. But Sam knew full well the reason for his good mood as Dean eyed him with disdain.

"What on earth is so funny?" Dean demanded, leaning over Sam angrily, hands on hips. "Do you realize how scared I was whenwe came in here and found you on the floor? And you're _laughing_?"

It took Sam a few minutes longer to compose himself, tears oflaughter sliding down his face. But he finally breathed in a deep breath and settled the laughter. "You should have seen your face," Sam said,his body still quivering happily. "It was priceless."

"You fell, Sam. I still don't see the humor in this!"

"You idiot, I didn't call you in here because I fell. I called you in here because of what happened _when_ I fell. Dean, the wheelchair landed on my foot...and I _felt_ it! I could feel pain in my foot!"

"Pain?" Dean cried in disbelief, immediately dropping to his knees in front of the leg he'd pulled the chair off of and picking up Sam's foot in his hands. "You felt pain? You're sure? Can you feel anything now?"

Sam watched as Dean rotated the foot, pressing his thumbs deep into the soft flesh. His face fell. "Well, no. I can't feel that. But I _did _feel something. I _felt_ it, Dean. I don't know why I can't feel anything now, but I'm certain I felt something. It wasn't my imagination." Sam's protests fell on deaf ears as Dean had already grabbed his cell phone and was frantically punching buttons. "Who are you calling?"

"Harry. He's got to have an explanation for all of this. Don't worry, Sam. This is a good sign. This has to be a good sign."

Twenty minutes later, Harry was crouched in front of Sam, his strong hands stretching and massaging Sam's feet and legs, trying to solicit another response out ofhis patient'snerves and muscles.

"Harry, what's going on with him?" Dean asked, nervously pacing the room. He hadn't been able to erase from his mind the look of Sam's crestfallen face when the pain he'd felt just seconds before refused to return to his numb foot. "Is it going to come back? He'll walk again, right? This is a good sign, _right? _You're gonna fix this. You've got to!" The intoned threat in Dean's voice didn't go unnoticed by Harry, and he stiffened his shoulders in response. The aging man liked the boys a lot, but he wasn't blind to the fact that the older brother could easily snap the man's neck like a toothpick if the situation presented itself. As long as they were on the same side, both working toward the same miracle, everything would be fine, but he wasn't sure he ever wanted to be the bearer of bad news.

Laura finally stepped forward, catching Dean as he made another pass by the door, and turning him toward her. "You're not helping," she insisted, whispering through clenched teeth so Sam wouldn't hear. "Your brother's nervous enough as it is without you going off half cocked, too. Let Harry check him out."

A gasp escaped Sam's throat as Harry finally hit the right spot. "There! That's it!" Sam cried happily. "I felt that."

A smile spread slowly across Harry's face as he dug his thumb deeper into the spot on Sam's ankle that was sensitive to the touch. "That's great, son. So great."

"Sam, did you see that?" Laura's eager voice broke in. She jumped forward, eyes holding steady on Sam's big toe. "Your toe moved. Did you see that?"

Dean stepped forward as well, his eyesgluedto the toe. "Do it again, Sam. Wiggle your toe."

Focusing all his energy and attention on the favored appendage, Sam attempted to move it again. Slowly, ever so slightly, the toe moved and everyone in the room breathed a collective sigh of relief. Harry stood, his old bones and muscles creaking with the beginnings of arthritis.

"Well, Sam..." he started, rubbing his chin between two fingers. "In my limited experience, I would say this is definitely a good sign. You're moving in a positive direction, and the fact that you have some movement tells me that something is definitely beginning to heal."

"Oh my God, Sammy, this is great!" Dean exclaimed, forgetting for a moment his promise not to call his brother by that name. Sam didn't seem to care this time, quite possibly never having noticed the slip of the tongue;he was too excited by the turn of events. It took every once of effort Dean had to resist the urge to pick Sam up and swing him around in celebration, but that would have been too near an undesired chick flick moment. He didn't want to lose his masculine edge, especially not in front of Laura. In an effort to calm himself, Dean turned anxiously to Harry. "So how long is this recovery going to take? Hours? Days?"

Harry tried to suppress the chuckle that overcame him when he realized the seriousness of Dean's question. Despite all the research he'd done in the last couple weeks, Dean still had no clue. Sam and Laura were also looking at him with soulful eyes, waiting greedily to hear his answer. A slightly more somber expression clouded the old man's face, realizing they wouldn't be exceptionally happy with the reply. "These things take time," he answered, choosing his words carefully. "Everyone's body works on a different schedule, so I honestly can't tell you when you'll see some dramatic improvement. There's no timescale for stuff like this. But you should expect the recovery to be weeks, maybe even months. And Sam," Harry looked directly at the boy, making sure he was focusing. "Sam, there's still a chance that you won't recover fully. I don't want you to ever give up, but you need to realize that it is a possibility."

Sam nodded his head, showing Harry that he had heard and understood, but Dean interjected. "With all due respect, Harry, you don't know my brother. You don't know the power of Winchester genes. We can overcome anything. He'll be just fine. He'll do this." The powerful conviction in his voice shed all doubt in everyone's minds. Sam would walk again.

Dean showed Harry to the door, thanking him profusely, and then turned to the two remaining people in the room. Sam and Laura sat eagerly, side by side, on the bed. The broad smile hadn't left Sam's face since his toe had wiggled voluntarily under his orders. As he turned, Dean's face lit up and his mouth widened into a smile that rivaled Sam's. Rubbing his palms together impishly Dean faced them. "Well guys, I think this calls for a celebration. Whaddya say, Sam. Think you might be up for a little bar crawl?"

Nothing was going to bring Sam down that night, and he'd accepted Dean's request without hesitation. The three of them now approached the bar with eager anticipation. The flashing neon sign above the door announcing 'JAKE'S BAR' screamed tacky. "Well there's originality for you," Dean scoffed. "How long do ya think it took him to come up with that name? Think he wrote a bunch of options on a piece of paper before he arrived at that decision." Dean feigned writing on a piece of paper, looking thoughtful. "Jake's Bar. The Bar of Jake. The Bar. Hmm, which one should I pick?"

Laura laughed, punching Dean playfully in the arm. "Give the guy a break, will you? This place actually isn't that bad. And they serve alcohol. Can't go wrong with that combination."

Cradling his wounded arm in mock pain, Dean shot Laura his sad puppy dog eyes. "Oww, that hurt."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Stop being such a wuss and open the door, jerk."

Dean let out a breath, chuckling as he grabbed the handles of the chair and pushed. "Alright, let's go, roller boy." Dean guided Sam's chair through the door Laura held open, popping a wheelie on the shallow step up into the bar. They stopped dead in their tracks as, once again, every eye in the place turned to stare.

"Here we go again," Sam murmured, dread beginning to sink in his stomach.

But the stares came from a different mentality this time, and they weren't directed just at Sam. For days, headlines on the town paper had screamed information about the two brave guys who had fought the campus attacker and ran him out of town. There weren't any pictures of Dean and Sam, but Laura's face had graced several issues, and the body of the articles told the story of Sam's injury. Despite the fact that most of the bars' patrons had already gone several rounds with a shot glass, they had still been admitted imto the university for a reason. Having put two and two together, albeit slower than if their brains had been fully coherent, every head turned to the entrance as their heroes entered. Eyes widened in awe, and a voice from the back of the bar yelled. "Holy shit, it's them!"

Dean and Sam eyed each other nervously, already overwhelmed by the attention and they'd barely made it three feet. The crowd converged on them, attacking the boys with question after question about the fight. _What did he look like? How did it feel to shoot him? What happened when you were taken? Are you sure he's gone? Why do you think he picked you? How did you get out alive?_ The sea of people swarmed around the boys, as their heads swam, trying to process the jumbled words. As the far better liar of the two, Dean stepped up to answer the majority of the questions, puffing his chest dramatically to match his new hero complex. He was able to answer the questions with minimal difficulty, and largely omitted explanations, to the satisfaction of the group. When he finished, Dean made to step through the crowd. "If you fine people will excuse me, my good friend's Jack and Jose are beckoning me to the bar." The drinks sat waiting, already paid for, as Dean, Sam, and Laura approached the bar. Dean passed them around, nodding his thanks to their benefactors. Drinks in hand, the brother's drank greedily, pouring the burning feel of cheap liquor down their throats in one cursory gulp before chugging the beer almost as quickly. Laura sipped hers in a much more lady-like fashion, eyes twinkling as the brothers accepted the next drinks offered them. They didn't pay for a drink the entire night.

At one point, an hour or so into the evening, Dean turned around frantically, having realized Sam was no longer there, matching him drink for drink. He had disappeared. But a smile soon played across Dean's lips when he realized where Sam had disappeared to. In a corner, on the other side of the room, Sam was being tended to by three very curious, extremely flirtatious undergrad girls. The look of bewilderment, with a hint of horror, was undeniable, and Dean considered rescuing his little brother for all of a second before erasing the thought from his mind. In the best of health Sam had never been the ladies man that Dean was. _Let the kid squirm. This should be good for him._

The girls had pounced on Sam, moving as stealthily as a cat hunting its prey. He hadn't even realized what was happening until he'd found himself following them obediently to the corner table. One of the girls, a leggy blonde named Junie, had taken a particular interest in him and wasted no time before she climbed into his lap, draping her long, slender legs side saddle over his and wrapping her arms around his neck. "So what's it like?" she cooed, stroking his cheek with the back of her hand. "Not being able to feel your legs, I mean."

Sam shrugged, self-conscious. "It's like hauling around fifty pounds of dead weight everywhere I go."

"So you can't feel me sitting on your lap?" The other girls leaned in further, curiosity piqued. They looked at him like they would a cuddly little puppy, awing and sighing and hanging on to every word he said. They were practically tripping over themselves to learn more about him.

"Not so much. You might as well be sitting in that chair over there for all I can feel you." Sam nudged his head in the direction of an empty chair to their right, and was quick to add, "But there's hope. I got some feeling back in my foot earlier today. That's actually why we're here tonight. To, uh...celebrate."

"Oooh, a celebration," Junie chirped, running her hands through Sam's hair, massaging his scalp tenderly. "I'm all about celebrating."

Sam nodded, unsure what he was supposed to be doing or saying. Girls didn't usually come on so strong to him. He usually preferred girls who were a little more timid; girls who were more concerned with books than looks.

Junie leaned over, whispering in Sam's ear, "So, Sam, tell me...since you still don't have much feeling can you still, you know..." she giggled seductively, gesturing her hand over Sam's lap.

Sam flushed, his voice catching in his throat as he realized her question. _This girl doesn't beat around the bush. _"I...uh...I can't, I mean I don't...I mean, well, I've never tried. It's only been a couple of weeks, so..."

"So I guess we better get to experimenting while we still can, don't ya think?"

Sam's eyes widened. Was he hearing this correctly? Was she really saying what he thought she was saying? Not even a day had passed since Sam's awkward and self-conscious experience at the restaurant, and now there was a girl sitting on his lap, practically begging him to sleep with her. Against his better judgement and every cell in his head screaming for him not too, Sam's ego needed stroking and he nodded, accepting her offer. "I've just got to tell my brother we're going back to the hotel," he replied, shoving the wheelchair back towards the bar with Junie still sitting on his lap.

"We'll go too," Dean answered when he'd heard Sam's announcement. "Laura and I will just take ourselves a little walk like she wanted earlier." There was no way he was letting Sam leave with that girl alone, and the relief reflected in Sam's eyes reassured Dean that he'd made the right choice. Sam might need back up, and he'd be there.

xxxxxxxx

Dean sighed happily as he rolled over in bed, draping his arm loosely around a sleeping Laura. He had no idea how much action Sam had gotten, but when he and Laura let themselves into the room a couple hours after Sam had gone in he was happy to see theblonde still there, sleeping peacefully in Sam's arms as a hint of a smile showed on Sam's sleeping face. _Didn't do too bad for yourself there, little brother. Good for you, Sammy. Good for you. _This was the greatest day they'd had in so long. Too long. Nothing could ruin it. Nothing, that is, except the sound of Dean's phone vibrating incessantly on the bedstand, indicating the arrival of a text message.


	12. Chapter 12

**The subject is** **mine, but sadly, the** **boys are not. Maybe someday...?**

_Hey guys. Again, thanks so much for all your reviews. For those of you who want more action in this fic, stay tuned, it's on the way. I'm trying my best to cover all bases. I think (hope) you'll really like where this is going. For those of you who like this the way it is, let me know, maybe I'll write another fic with less action. I aim to please! You guys are awesome!_

Dean stared at the screen of his cell phone for the fifth time, his entire being wishing this time it would read differently. He couldn't believe the message. How dare he? What right does he have? Although he'd ignored the initial 4am vibrations of the phone, Dean couldn't keep his curiosity to himself much longer. As the sun rose outside the hotel Dean had picked up the offending object and scrolled up the list, annoyance his first emotion as he saw it was from their father. Dean braced himself, ready for an apology or an inquiry about Sam. But rage consumed him as he read the message. _You boys have wasted enough time in that town. You took care of the hunt, and now it's time you move on. This is where you are to go next. _Dean didn't even bother to look at the coordinates his father had included. They didn't matter. Dean Winchester would not be racing off on some piece of crap hunt. Not without Sam. And Sam was in no shape to be fighting monsters.

Resisting the urge to hurl the phone across the room, Dean stormed out of the room without considering what his volume was doing to the three sleeping figures still inside. He barely waited until he was safely out of voice range before he pressed the auto dial. Not surprisingly, the cell rang straight to voicemail and Dean had to listen to the all too familiar message on his father's phone. The delay just made him angrier, and when the beep finally sounded on the other end Dean tore into his father. "You fucking asshole! Do you have even one tiny fucking idea what Sam has been going through these last two weeks? We're not just sitting on our ass's wasting time, as you so delicately put it. Your son has been trying desperately to get his life back together. He's trying to relearn how to walk dammit! Not that you would even care, seeing as how you couldn't even be bothered to come visit him in the hospital. We're not going anywhere until Sam's able to fight, so if you need something taken care of you can just get off that damn pedestal of yours and take care of it your self! Damn you!" Dean finished his rampage with a jab of his thumb violently into the END button on the phone. And then he stabbed the button several more times for good measure, wishing he could have done a whole lot more than just give their father a good tongue lashing.

He spun around, stomping back to the hotel for his keys. He needed to get out of there; go for a drive. But Dean stopped short in his tracks at the sight of Sam, Laura and Junie all staring at him, bleary eyed, from the door of the room. While the girls had looks of utter confusion on their faces, Sam just looked curious. Dean would only react that way to one man: their father. "Ladies," Dean said, plastering his best apologetic smile across his face, charming them thoroughly. He was mildly successful at hiding the utter frustration and disgust that had consumed him just seconds before. "I'm so sorry to have to do this to you, but I'm afraid we're gonna have to cut this morning short. Sam and I have some things we need to discuss, and you girls would just be bored listening to us."

Junie shrugged, indifferent. This had just been a one night stand; she knew that and so did Sam. But she'd still had fun. She leaned her lithe little body over Sam, brushing her lips tenderly against his cheek. "Thanks for a wild night, Sam. Look me up if you ever need another opportunity to celebrate." Her swift movements and acceptance of the situation signaled the fact that she was used to slipping out unnoticed.

Laura wasn't nearly as willing to leave without further explanation. "If you guys are in some kind of trouble I want to help," Laura insisted, crossing her arms defiantly. She had been privileged enough to be let in on their deepest darkest secret. In her mind there was no reason to keep anything else a secret.

Dean rolled his eyes, shoving his way through the barricade Laura and Sam still maintained in front of the door. "Fine. You want to stay? Stay. I'm taking a shower."

It was Sam's turn to roll his eyes as he reentered the room and crossed to his brother. _Typical. If he can't have what he wants, he just clams up._ "What did he say?" Sam whispered, hoping his hushed voice would be enough to convince Dean they could still have a conversation with Laura in the room.

The tactic didn't work. "Don't worry about it Sam. I already took care of it."

"Took care of what?" Sam demanded louder, grabbing Dean's wrist as he passed. "What did Dad want?"

Dean laughed off Sam's question, playing down the situation as he shrugged out of his brother's loose grasp. "What makes you think that was Dad? I never once gave you the impression that jerk had bothered to contact us."

"I'm in a wheelchair, Dean, not a coma," Sam groaned sarcastically. "And I know you better than you know yourself. If you weren't just calling Dad then I'm John Wayne."

"John Wayne, huh?" Dean winked, and looked over at Laura who still stood in the doorway with her arms crossed. "I got me a real life celebrity in the family. Who could've guessed."

"Just tell me what he said!" Sam finally yelled, exasperation at Dean's stubbornness rivaled only by his gut feeling that the conversation had been about him.

Dean sat on the corner of the bed, finally relenting. He slowly pulled the phone from his pocket, highlighting the text and handing the information over to Sam. Unwilling to be left out, Laura crossed to Sam and peered over his shoulder. Her heart sank as she read the message, and then fell completely when she watched Sam's shoulders slump. "So he just wants me to suck it up, huh?" Sam asked quietly. "As though this whole thing is all in my head?"

"Sam, I'm sorry," Dean replied, gently retrieving the phone from Sam's hand and deleting the message. "The guy's a total ass. Don't even let what he said get to you."

"But those people...they need our help...well, your help, anyway."

_There he goes again. Just like Sam; always putting other people before himself. Idiot._ "Sam, we don't even know what the deal is with those coordinates. For all we know it could be a ghost town. People may not even be involved."

"But there _might_ be," Sam insisted, shoving off towards his laptop, left on the room table. "We should look it up. See what the deal is."

Dean sprinted after his brother, determined to talk him out of the hunt. Reaching around Sam, Dean slammed the laptop shut as Sam spun angrily. _What the hell is with this kid? Two day's ago he was screaming at me for dragging him back into thishunting gig, and now I'm the one ordering him to back off a case? _"Look, bro, it's just one job. It'll keep. Besides," Dean looked sadly at his brother, upset that it would come to this. "You're not going to be of any use to me on the hunt. And I'm not going without you."

Daggers shot from Sam's eyes into his brother's heart. "I can fight, Dean. It's the only thing in my life that's been ingrained in me from the day I could talk. You know it'll all come back to me just as soon as I need it too. It's like riding a bicycle. Once you learn it you don't lose it."

"That's funny," Dean scoffed, walking away from Sam. "Because I would have thought that walking might have fallen into the same category, but your body sure as hell forgot how to do that."

It was a low blow. Dean knew it the minute he'd opened his mouth to say it, but he couldn't let Sam continue with this fierce determination to go gallivanting across the country in search of demons. There would be a time and a place for that, but the time wasn't now. Dean watched, upset, as Sam pursed his lips, slumping dejected in the chair. He resisted the urge to say he was sorry, his only relief being that Sam was giving up the fight. At least it worked. But he couldn't let it go completely at that. He had to make things right with his brother. They were still on shaky ground from their earlier fight.

"I'll make you a deal, Sam. You work extra hard on therapy; get yourself out of that chair and back on your own two feet, and we'll look into this place. If they still need our help we'll go."

Nodding his agreement, Sam relaxed a little, letting Dean release a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I guess it's good incentive to work hard on my therapy."

"You should want to work hard for _you_," Dean insisted. "But if this is what will do it, then use it. I'll take whatever I can get."

"Speaking of that," Sam added, a sly smile spreading across his face, "I have to show you something." Dean and Laura both looked in anticipation as Sam motioned to his socked foot. The movement in his toe from the night before had migrated, and Sam now eagerly demonstrated motion in his entire foot. It still took effort, and Dean didn't miss the strain and tension in his little brother's entire body as he focused all his efforts on bending the foot, but the result was unmistakable.

A burst of energy filled the room, John Winchester and his demands all but forgotten. "Sam, that's incredible! Your foot! Look at it! I knew you could do this. I knew you would get better!"

Sam beamed. "It happened last night while Junie and I were...I mean, it happened while you were gone. I wanted to tell you then, but you weren't here."

"This is awesome. We have to call Harry!"

Holding up a hand, Sam was quick to stop Dean. The early hour of the morning might have escaped his brother's notice, but Sam had gotten an eyeful of the neon clock when Dean had torn out of the room not that long ago. "Let the poor man sleep!" he laughed. "He'll be over in a few hours. My foot will still be moving then. Who knows, maybe more will have joined it by then."

"So what do we do in the meantime?" Dean tried to hide his disappointment as best he could, but it wasn't easy. He'd put every ounce of his thoughts and actions into Sam's recovery. It was exhausting. _How can Sam be so blase about the whole thing?_

Sam's stomach answered for him, rumbling loudly, and lightening the mood again. "Let's eat."


	13. Chapter 13

**I do not own Sam or Dean, but I do own the story. It's mine...all mine. Mwahaha**

_Hey guys! I'm still extremely grateful for all the reviews you take time to write. I really appreciate you expressing your desires for the direction of this fic and future fics. Although I have several more chapters to write in between I have already come up with and written an amazing end to this one, so we are definitely heading off to do some more ghost hunting very soon. But I will take all reviews to heart, and try to keep the characters real. Here's the next chapter...enjoy. _

Climbing out of his precious Impala, Dean gazed at her admiringly. _You look good girl._ _Damn, you look good._ He backed away, circling the car as he inspected every inch of body, stopping a couple times to wipe a smudge of dust that had dared to adhere itself to the coat in the drive from the car wash back to the motel. Hours earlier, Dean had left Sam pounding furiously away at the laptop so he could give his baby a long overdue bath in the unusually warm March weather. He'd spent an hour alone just washing and waxing the car, and the result was a shiny, spotless coat of paint. The green flecks in the coat sparkled radiantly. Dean had considered forking out the requested seventy five bucks for a full detail, but in the end logic had won out. Not that seventy five big ones was an exorbitant amount to spend on the precious car; he would have gladly spent ten times that for a sparkling interior. No, logically, no one could do even half the job that Dean himself could, and would, do. The idea that he'd even considered allowing some stranger to touch his baby sent chills up his spine. It felt like handing your girlfriend over to some stranger in a bar and letting him have his way with her for a fee. It was just disgusting. Never gonna happen.

So Dean had spent the next couple of hours stooped over with vacuum, cloths, sprays, and other tools in hand, cleaning every square inch of the interior. Not until Dean possessed the replica of the Hope Diamond did he allow himself to accept the car as finished. And now, with lunch getting cold in the passenger seat, Dean was wasting time admiring his handiwork again.

Finally pulling himself from his conceit, Dean grabbed the food and headed into the hotel room. It was already midway through the day, and he figured Sam would be starving by now. "Come and get it little brother!" Dean called as he set foot in the room. "I got food." Dean froze, casting his eyes frantically around the room. Something was out of place, or rather, missing entirely. Sam. _Sam's gone. Sammy!_ It wouldn't have worried him nearly as much if it weren't for the fact that Sam's wheelchair was still very much present in the room. But it sat empty, with absolutely no sign of his brother anywhere. Dean panicked, dropping the bags of food as he darted out the room, screaming Sam's name.

Ignoring every rule he'd ever learned about hunting, Dean circled the hotel like a maniac in search of any sign as to where his brother had been taken. Because that was the only explanation, _right_? _Sam isn't well. There's no way he could have just gotten up and walked out of the room. Come on Sammy, leave a clue. Give me a sign! Dammit, Sam._ "SAAAAAAM! Where are you? Sammy, please!" He didn't notice the curious faces coming to the motel windows to stare as Dean ran past, screaming in desperation. He didn't notice the small flock of children in front of one of the rooms scatter nervously as the psychotic man practically tripped over them. But most of all, he didn't notice that the room he had just vacated, their room, was largely undisturbed. There was absolutely no sign of a struggle.

As Dean rounded the corner to the backside of the motel his chest had begun to tighten and he was finding it difficult to breathe. _I can't lose him now. Not after everything we've gone through. He's got to be Ok. He just _HAS_ to be._ All the thoughts jumbled in Dean's mind, thoughts of what had happened to Sam, where he was, was he OK? And then Dean's mind went completely blank as all color drained from his complexion.

There was Sam. Right there, in front of him. "Sammy!" Dean hollered, racing toward his brother. At this point, he didn't care about the promise he'd made to his little brother. He was going to call him any name he wanted as long as it meant Sam would hear the words. Relief flooded through him as Dean stopped in front of Sam, panting as he looked up at the beautiful sight of his baby brother. _Wait. Up. Up? _"Sam, you're walking!"

_How could I not have noticed that before? How did I not see it? _With Harry sticking very close to his side, Sam was slowly making his way around the building, leaning heavily on a pair of crutches. In the last week, Sam and Harry, many times just Sam, had spent every available minute working on reclaiming the lost sensation and movement in his legs. The process was agonizingly slow to poor Sam who was desperate for the whole nightmare he was living to just be over. As the numbness in his legs gradually began to recede, Harry had begun working on strength training exercises as well, preparing Sam for that very moment. The moment he would stand on his own two feet and take his first step. In actuality, Sam's first step, and the subsequent steps, were actually more like a slide and shuffle. But he didn't care. He was on his feet and moving forward. As they made their long trek around the building the wheelchair had long since been forgotten. Against Harry's better judgement, Sam had convinced him to go for a walk, which is exactly where they'd been when Dean had found him missing and gone postal.

"Dean!" Sam snapped, nearly losing his balance in the process. "What the hell's the matter with you? I don't think they heard you in New Zealand!"

The pasty white skin Dean had modeled just seconds before quickly disappeared, replaced by a deep shade of crimson as he looked sheepishly at Sam and Harry. Words couldn't explain it without making him sound like an idiot, so Dean tried to shrug it off. "Sorry, Sam. I don't know what came over me. I just...never mind. Pretend it didn't happen."

Sam couldn't help himself as he tried to suppress a chuckle. The panic in Dean's face as he'd rounded the corner had been priceless. "Dean, were you scared?" Sam teased, mock surprise on his face.

"Just shut up, _Sammy_," Dean growled lightly. "It was a moment of weakness. Don't worry. It _won't_ happen again." Dean was tempted to reach out and give Sam a light punch to the shoulder, but the boy looked like he would collapse any minute. In spite of Sam's original gung ho actions in taking his walk, he was quickly losing strength, and there was still almost half the motel to circle before they would make it back to their room. Every pound of his six foot five frame leaned exhausted on the metal crutches, and he didn't look like he would make it another step let alone another several hundred feet.

"Maybe I should run back and get your wheelchair," Dean said, his good humor being immediately replaced by concern. "I think you've gotten enough of a workout on your first trip out."

"I'm fine," Sam's short reply didn't reassure Dean, but the determination in his face got the message across. Dean backed off, falling into step beside his brother as they inched forward, shuffle by shuffle, to the room. Dean watched his baby brother with intense anticipation, prepared to grab him at the first sign of a stumble. He had nothing but admiration for the boy as he watched Sam fight with everything he had to make it back to the room without assistance.

Sam's legs still lacked strength and muscle control. They were still waiting for the day that the odd tingling sensation and numbness disappeared completely and began to feel the way healthy legs were supposed to feel. In the meantime, Sam had to struggle for enough to control to propel the disobedient limbs forward. Without the appropriate control, it was necessary to swing from the hips, shoving an entire half of his body forward and following it with the other half. It was rhythmic in his mind, and Sam had only enough energy to chant the necessary motions silently. _Crutches forward. Left hip forward. Shuffle the foot. Right hip forward. Shuffle the foot. Crutches forward..._ His toes dragged haltingly behind the rest of his body, his ankles still lacking the strength to hold an angle. His knuckles were white as he clutched with a death grip on the handles. His armpits screamed from the pressure of the weight hanging on them. Sweat poured down his face from the exhaustion, the energy draining from him faster with every step he took.

"Sammy, are you sure you don't want me to get the chair?" Dean insisted, his arms now stretched cautiously behind his brother, sure they would be getting a workout any second.

"There's no shame in admitting you're tired," Harry was quick to add, his only feeling of respite being that he was no longer Sam's only source of protection from a fall. The old man wouldn't have been very successful in catching Sam and lowering him safely to the ground.

"It's Sam," the determined hunter hissed through clenched teeth. "And I said I'm fine." He took a second to glance up ahead, relieved to see they were only a few doors down from room 9. _Thank you Jesus. _It was nothing less than blind faith and stubborn determination that got Sam safely to the room, but he collapsed the minute he made it over the threshold, his body and legs refusing to go one step further.

As Sam's knees buckled Dean jumped forward, catching his little brother in a tender grasp, the crutches clattering loudly to the floor. "I've got you little brother," Dean whispered gently in Sam's ear as he readjusted the boy in his arms and carried him to the bed. "You did great. I'm so proud of you." But Sam barely heard the last part. Exhaustion had all out consumed him, and his head barely glanced the pillow before his eyes closed and Sam was asleep.

Dean waited until Harry had pulled out of the parking lot, watching the bumper disappear down the road before closing the door and returning to the interior of the room. The crutches still lay strewn haphazardly on the floor intermingled with the now stale burgers and fries Dean had dropped earlier. As he cleaned up the mess, throwing away the wasted food and propping the crutches against the wall, the question popped into his head with indeterminable ferocity. Why had he never thought it before? With everything going on, why had he never asked it. He'd just made assumptions; assumptions based solely on brief observations. _I wonder what it's like. What does it feel like? To not be able to feel your legs? Not be able to move? What has he been going through?_

Dean stealthily crossed the room to Sam's bed, trying to be as quiet as possible despite the fact that Sam was, for once, sleeping harder than the dead. But Dean still felt the need to reassure himself that his brother was out. Assured, Dean crept over to the wheelchair, hesitating before lowering himself into the chair and settling his feet on the footrests. For several minutes Dean just sat, erasing his mind of all feeling in his legs. If he closed his eyes and sat very still, Dean was able to imagine the feeling in his legs disappearing. It still wasn't the same. Sam had said once that it just felt as though there was dead weight hanging from his lower body. As though there was a sack of potatoes tied around his waist. Dean's imagination had his legs completely gone. But it was the best he could do, and it gave him better understanding than nothing.

He opened his eyes again and looked at the wheels, unlocking the brakes. Dean tested the motion, resting his hands on the rims and rolling the chair back and forth a couple times. _Did it feel this odd to Sam when he sat in this chair for the first time? Or did it just come naturally to him? Maybe it becomes a second nature like walking used to be._ "Ooohkaay," Dean whispered, gripping tighter on the rims of the chair. "Here goes nothing."

Dean pushed off as he'd seen Sam do so many times before, gaining the initial momentum he needed to keep the chair in motion. For a few minutes Dean circled the room, adjusting himself to the new angle and wider girth. But when he felt confident in his abilities Dean ventured outside. Or at least he tried. His first attempt at opening the door was met with resistance as the foot rest blocked the door from opening more than a crack, and he found his coordination to be lacking in holding the doorknob and backing the chair away in the same motion. It took several tries before he angled himself enough away from the door that it could be opened and he could push himself outside. The door closed behind him, and Dean sat heaving on the other side, emotions deviating between triumph and incompetence. _Oh God that was hard. That was...how does he do that by himself? How did he learn to do that? Why can I kill just about any monster that chooses to attack me, but I can't get out a stupid door? What the fuck?_

Moving beyond the initial frustrations, Dean pushed off again, this time down the sidewalk to the ramp. He'd watched Sam with this move, making it seem so effortless. But Dean had apparently missed the day in therapy when Harry told Sam to brace the wheels as though he were braking, because the ramp bested him and Dean began rolling across the parking lot with uncontrollable reckless abandon. Dean grasped frantically at the wheels, the metal heating in his hand as he fought to regain his hold. _So that's what the gloves are for. _He was halfway across the parking lot before he finally won the battle, spinning himself around so fast he almost tipped over. He was O for two, and Dean's confidence was quickly waning. There was one more battle he wanted to try before giving in entirely. He approached his car on the passenger side and grabbed the keys from his pocket, only realizing after the fact that he'd automatically hitched his hip up higher to make access to the keys easier. _Man, the things we take for granted. This must suck for him. _

Dean opened the door without much difficulty and then reached behind him for the transfer board Sam kept concealed in a pocket in the back of the chair. "How did he do this?" Dean muttered to himself, wracking his brain as he tried to remember the exact sequence of events, and then following them with a methodic motion. _The armrest goes up first...OK, that's done. Now, my feet. How does he...under the knees, that right. And then the foot rests go up. Alright. Now...nowww, the board. The board slides under my ass and the other end sits on the seat and he braces himself, kinda like...so._ Dean locked his elbows as he'd seen Sam do countless times and began to slide his body across the board, grunting and straining as he crossed onto the car seat. And then the legs. One at a time, Dean pulled his legs into the car and then he stopped. Tears threatened to fall and a knot the size of a bowling ball formed in his throat. _How does he do this? How can he live like this? I don't know...I think I would kill myself if... I mean, this whole thing is so hard. _Dean sat in the car for a good half hour, his thoughts focused solely on Sam and everything he'd gone through in the past weeks. He'd known it was hard, seen the pain and anguish and intense determination that Sam had confronted everyday. But nothing, none of his thoughts or his imagination could have prepared him for the harsh reality of what Sam was actually experiencing.

When he was certain his emotions would no longer betray him, Dean climbed unsteadily from the car, no longer taking for granted the feel of standing on his own two feet, powering himself into the room on two perfectly working legs. Dean parked the wheelchair beside Sam's still sleeping form and slid the transfer board back into its pocket. Sam would never hear about Dean's experience. It was a secret he would take to the grave. But as Dean gazed down at his little brother he was overcome with new appreciation for the strength and willpower the boy possessed. It was a description of self Dean knew he would never own no matter how hard he worked toward it. To Dean, it was either life or death. There were no in between's in his mind. That simple fact, in all its glory, made Dean weak. It made him realize. Sam was by far the strongest person Dean Winchester knew, and he had nothing but admiration and envy for the boy. His brother was an exceptional person.


	14. Chapter 14

**I do not own Dean or Sam Winchester...rats. **

_Hey guys, so here I go. It's time to change directions. And just so you know, any kind of back story behind Devils Elbow, Missouri that resembles actual truth is pure coincidence. I can't exactly say there was anything scientific that went into choosing the town. I just closed my eyes and picked a state in the West, and the scrolled through town names until I found one that resembled spooky. Yes, it's a real place. Beyond that, this is still completely fiction_. _Once again, thanks so much for your wonderful reviews. I always look forward to seeing what my readers think about this story. So, here goes..._

Dean tossed the last of their luggage into the backseat of the Impala, pausing to smile at the noticeable lack of wheelchair. Within two days of taking his first steps Sam had demanded the chair be removed from his sight. It served as a constant reminder that there was something to fall back on; that if he couldn't take another step he could sit. Sam didn't want that reminder. He didn't want that escape. So he'd ordered Dean to get rid out it. Another week went by with the chair hidden safely in the trunk of the car, just in case. But Dean had soon realized Sam would never need it again, and had willingly donated it to Harry for one of his future patients.

Three weeks later, as the weather warmed and the spring flowers began to bloom, Sam had finally convinced Dean it was time to move on. The call for help from the citizens in Devils Elbow, Missouri had tugged dramatically at Sam's heartstrings. Despite Dean's constant reminder that they didn't even know they'd registered on the hunter's radar, Sam hadn't let up. The conversation that led them to this moment played over and over again in Dean's mind, his fears for Sam's safety still battling Sam's pleas to go. The day, two days earlier, had gone like every other day. Sam had spent most of his day deviating between his therapy efforts and his research efforts. And then Dean had gotten another text message from their father, but unlike the others he'd received on an almost daily basis, he hadn't been able to hide this one. The phone had vibrated, indicating the message, while Dean was in the shower. And when he reemerged several minutes later, Sam sat angrily on the bed, glaring at Dean with the phone clutched tightly in his hands.

"How many messages has Dad sent?" Sam demanded before Dean could even ask what his phone was doing in Sam's hand.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Sam," Dean stalled, turning his back to Sam as he shuffled through his bag for a t-shirt.

"Then let me spell it out for you," Sam snapped. "Your cell phone. Dad has sent several text messages to you that you somehow conveniently failed to tell me about. HOW MANY DID HE SEND?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Dean replied firmly. "I had my reasons."

"Dammit Dean! How dumb do you think I am? Did you honestly think I wouldn't find out?"

Dean sighed, sinking to the opposite bed and finally facing his irate brother. "You were moving as fast as you could with your therapy. I didn't want you to worry anymore than you had to. There was nothing more you could be doing."

"There was a lot I could be doing!" Sam yelled, throwing the phone at Dean. "Three more people have been killed while you were busy keeping me in the dark. We could have helped them, Dean. We could have saved them!"

"What the hell were you going to do?" Dean demanded of his brother. "You could barely walk! You're still having a lot of trouble. How were you going to help any of them?"

The hatred in Sam's eyes was unmistakable. "You had no right, Dean. I would have figured something out. _We_ would have figured something out, _together_."

"What do you want me to do, Sam? Huh? What do you want me to say? I'm not going to say I'm sorry, because I'm not! Your safety is the most important thing to me. I don't give a damn about the rest of the world if you're not OK. Dammit, Sam, I did what I thought was best for you! For your recovery! Damn you, Sam, I did it because I love you!" Anger and frustration had Dean back on his feet, pacing frantically back and forth. _How do I make him see that I didn't do this to screw him over? I kept this from him because I love him. Dammit, Sammy. You're so stubborn. _

Sam grew silent, his thoughts going to what Dean had just said. Suddenly, his hands seemed very interesting, and Sam spent a great deal of time studying them intensely. As much as he hated to admit it, and GOD did he hate to admit it, there was no mistaking Dean's sincerity. There was far too much emotion in his brother's typically stoical demeanor for Sam to believe anything else. Dean was a damn good liar, but he refused to bring any emotion into his lies. This was pure, unadulterated truth. "I'm sorry, Dean," Sam offered quietly, still examining his hands. "I just...my recovery is just taking far too long for my tastes. I need to be out there doing something. But instead, I'm stuck in this godforsaken town focusing on putting one foot safely in front of the other. These people need us, Dean."

Dean stopped pacing long enough to face his brother. "And I told you, we'll go just as soon as you're better. I made that promise to you and I intend to keep it."

"I _am_ better," Sam protested. "I couldn't even get out of that wheelchair when you promised me that. I'm so much better."

"But you're not better enough. Sam, I need you at the top of your game before we go running after another demon. I have to know that you can fend for yourself if something should happen to me."

"I _can_!" Sam insisted. "You've seen me fight in much weaker situations. Dean, you know how many time's I've been about to pass out, but I keep fighting. Can you honestly tell me that a little numbness in my legs is going to keep me from protecting myself?"

_Dammit, the little punk is right. He may not be in peak physical condition, but he rarely is at the end of a fight and he always ends up on top. Just like me. _Dean sighed, defeat written across his face. Sam wasn't giving this up, and Dean had to admit he, too, was getting a bit stir crazy just sitting in this town. It was time to leave. Their destination was over three thousand miles away, a good three days drive if they pushed it. But Dean planned to make it a nice leisurely drive, and if luck was on his side, Sam would be well enough to fight by the time they hit the town.

"Fine," Dean answered shortly. "You want to go. We'll go. But if you can't cut it, you're on your own. I'm not saving your scrawny little butt when you find out you can't save yourself."

Sam had smiled, that evil little smile that told Dean he'd seen right through the facade. Sam knew there was no way Dean would ever let him get hurt if he could help it. And there were people in far worse shape than he was. People were dying. With victory his, Sam returned to the laptop, preparing himself mentally for the fight against the creature that the town referred to as the Devils Elbow destroyer.

xxxxxxx

And here they were, two days later, loading up the car as Laura and Harry watched on unhappily. Dean had spent all of yesterday trying to explain to Laura that it had never been his plan to remain in the town. _This last month and a half has been absolutely amazing,_ Dean had assured her, massaging her hands tenderly. _But Sam and I have to be moving on. People need our help. This is our job._

Laura had spent hours pleading with Dean to stay, and finally blurted _Well then take me with you. I could help!_

Dean had shaken his head firmly, releasing her hands from his as he'd walked away in a panic. He hadn't seen that coming. Quite honestly, he hadn't even foreseen their relationship going as far as it did. Dean had never had a relationship that lasted much longer than an extended fling. The feelings he'd discovered he had for Laura scared him much more than any ghost or demon he'd ever encountered. _Laura, I promise we'll keep in touch. I'll come back to visit and you can join me whenever it's safe. Or we can just call this quits. Whatever you want to do, I'll accept. The ball's in your court._

Laura followed him to where he stood facing the wall, her hand closing gently around his arm, turning him to face her. Tears had brimmed in her eyes as she realized her choices were limited. But she'd answered hesitantly, her time with the hunter telling her that if a choice wasn't made one would be made for her, and she might not like the outcome. _I guess we keep in touch and see where this takes us_, she'd whispered, her head falling heavily against his chest as the tears began to fall. _God, I'm going to miss you._

_I'm gonna miss you too, _Dean had assured her, kissing the top of her head. _I think you're the best thing that's happened to me in a long time. _

But now Laura stood with her back against the building, arms crossed, and completely withdrawn into herself. She looked so uncertain with the tears staining her cheeks as she alternated between looking longingly at Dean and refusing to make eye contact with him entirely. Mostly, she spent her time drawing circles in the sidewalk with the toe of her shoe.

Beside her, Harry also stood with arms crossed as he watched Dean throw the last of their gear into the car. Sam was the only one missing from this equation and he soon appeared from within the room, leaning his weight on the pair of canes he held, one in each hand. Six days earlier he'd ditched the crutches and upgraded to the black polished canes, referring to them affectionately as his 'old man gear.' His legs still wobbled slightly, and he favored the right leg, dragging it ever so slightly behind him. But considering he had no movement or sensation just a month ago, the results were incredible.

"Rooms clear," Sam announced, pausing in the doorway to make his announcement. "We got everything. Let's hit the road."

Laura flinched, knowing this was it. In just a few minutes they would be gone. As Dean approached her she pulled back. _If I don't let him touch me, then it can't be the last time I feel him. He'll have to stay. He'll have to fight for me._ But Dean persisted, pulling her forcefully toward him, embracing her in a tight hug. She had no choice but to comply, and with tears in her eyes she buried her head into his chest. Her arms wrapped around him in a death grip. "I don't want you to go," she sobbed, her voice muffled by Dean's t-shirt.

"I don't have a choice," Dean replied in hushed tones. "There are so many people out there who need my help. I have to go."

As Dean and Laura experienced their heartfelt good-bye's, Sam and Harry were creating their own special moment. Sam transferred the cane from his right hand into the left, holding both tightly, and leaning heavily on that side. He pursed his lips into a tight smile, holding his hand out to Harry. "I just can't thank you enough for everything you did for me," Sam voiced, clutching his therapists hand tightly. "There's no doubt in my mind that I'm walking because of you. You saved my life."

The old man's eyes watered, threatening to spill over at any second. "You saved your own life, son. I just helped you find the way. I'm so proud of you." Shoving precedent aside, Harry stepped forward and closed his arms around his patient in a huge bear hug. "Just keep up the work. And keep me posted."

Sam nodded, patting Harry on the back. "Of course. I've got your address."

"Come on, Sam. We gotta get moving." Dean's voice boomed through the air almost too loudly, overcompensating as he tried to hide the waver of emotion. This wasn't the time or the place to lose it.

Sam nodded and made his way to the car, easing himself into the seat and clutching the canes in both hands. Dean slid more gracefully into the driver's seat and turned the key in the ignition, eager to get out of there before he could glance the waterfall the most assuredly was pouring out of Laura's eyes. His right hand turned the dial on the car stereo blasting music loud enough to drown out anything she might say as they pulled away. _Damn, this is gonna be harder than I thought. What the hell did that chick do to me?_ Revving the engine, Dean roared out of the parking lot, leaving nothing but a cloud of dust in his wake. They were on the interstate in a matter of minutes, with the skyline of university buildings getting smaller and smaller with every car they passed. It was almost ritualistic the way both boys said silent goodbyes to everything that had happened in that town. The good. The bad. The indifferent. Dean still hadn't decided if he would actually keep in touch with the girl who had stolen his heart. It wouldn't be fair to her, him always running off on job after job. But was it fair to him to be alone all the time? This was the first girl who actually knew what he did, and she was _OK_ with that. What were the chances? It didn't matter. He had a full three thousand miles to make that decision. And right now there were more important things to discuss. "So tell me about this town, Sam. Tell me about Devils Elbow, Missouri."

_Don't worry guys, there's still more to come..._


	15. Chapter 15

**Sam and Dean are not mine. They never have been, and regretfully, never will be. **

_Hey guys, we're nearing the end. I'm thinking two, possibly three more chapters. This has been so much fun. I guarantee I'll be writing more. In the mean time, enjoy this next chapter. And thanks again for all your kind reviews. I love that you guys love this. I think my head's swelling! Hehe. _

Dean hadn't been far off when he'd speculated that Devil's Elbow, Missouri was a ghost town. It might as well have been for all the action it had seen since the Civil War. Sam and Dean pulled into the town six days, and one fewer cane, after leaving Laura. Their mouths gaped open as they absorbed the sight before them, feeling like they'd just stepped foot into a classic Western. Every building in the town was run down and falling apart. Grey, weathered wood shingles adorned the sides of the buildings in place of modern day vinyl siding, and the tin roofs were rusted. Empty rocking chairs sat on just about every porch, but some still rocked steadily, as though they had been vacated quickly, and recently. Faded signs, all painted in the same white paint, announced the 'General Store,' 'Bank,' 'Sheriff,' 'Post Office,' and 'Saloon,' and a smaller sign beside the door to the saloon advertised rooms were available for rent. The boys shared a look of amusement as Dean parked the Impala in front of none other than a horse tie-up outside of the local saloon. But for all the details they did notice about the old town, one little detail was still missing. There were no people.

"Dude, I think I just saw a tumbleweed roll across the road up there," Dean snickered, his gaze following the dusty road that ran through the center of the tiny town.

Sam climbed unsteadily to his feet, the added stiffness from the long car ride creating more difficulty to get a stable foothold on the soft ground. He balanced himself, one hand gripping the cane and the other hand on the roof of the car, as he looked to where Dean's eyes fell. As his eyes scanned the town, looking for more illusive tumbleweeds, they fell nervously short of the their intended target. Curtains were drawn on just about every window in the town, and it was the movement of one said curtain that had caught Sam's attention.

"Dean, I think we may want to get out of here," Sam whispered, already lowering himself back into the car. It wasn't the motion of the curtain that had him frightened. It was what had moved them. As Sam's eyes focused more steadily on the window he could see the barrel of a gun aimed directly at them.

"Come on, Sam. What are you talking about? There's nothing to be scared of," Dean countered, spinning around to laugh at his little brother.

"I'm serious, Dean," Sam demanded, reaching across the car to grab at the older hunter's shirttails, yanking at them. "We're not alone. Get back in the car."

Annoyed, Dean shook free of Sam's grasp. "Look around you, Sam. There's not a soul here. Come on, wuss. Get outta this damn car so we can start our investigation. You're the one who wanted to come out here in the first place. I didn't just drive all this way to turn around and leave again."

Panic rose in Sam's voice. He'd just watched the shotgun move, and if he wasn't mistaken it was aimed directly at his brother. "Dean, GET DOWN!" Sam screamed, yanking the stubborn hunter into the car, just as the first shot rang out through the afternoon sunshine.

The bullet narrowly missed hitting the car and Dean scrambled the rest of the way into the seat, nervous fingers frantically trying to insert the keys into the ignition as another shot hit the pole just beyond the car's left headlight. Gunning the engine wildly Dean raced the car out of the town, leaving a trail of dust in his wake. More modern roads would undoubtedly have had two deep black tracks of rubber burned into their surface.

"DAMMIT!" Dean screamed several minutes later, panting wildly. He'd pulled the car off to the side of the road as soon as he felt they were a safe distance away from the psycho using them for target practice. Dean ran both hands through his spiked hair. Leaning against the car for support, he slowly lowered himself into a crouch. His limbs shook anxiously, and his stomach did a little flip flop, but it wasn't due, as would be expected, to the close call on his life. No, Dean's anxiety was caused by the near miss to his precious Impala. "He just about hit my car!"

"He just about hit _you_!" Sam reminded Dean pointedly, climbing slowly out of the car and circling to where his brother sat in the dirt. "Next time I tell you to leave, listen to me!""You didn't say anything about creepy locals using passerby as prey."

Sam looked down apologetically at his brother. "It wouldn't exactly be published information. I told you on the drive here, Dean, there isn't much information on the town itself. Just on the deaths and the unusual circumstances surrounding each one. You saw yourself, it's not exactly a mainstream town. These people are totally stuck in the dark ages."

"But we can't exactly do any investigating if they're gonna be shooting at us the minute we set foot within town limits." Dean's exasperation shone through, and Sam could tell he wanted nothing more than to go back and kick some gun-toting ass. "We need to sneak back into that town without being seen."

"Heh. Yeah, no kidding," Sam scoffed, leaning against a tree so he could face Dean. "But what do you suggest?"

Dean glared at Sam as though the answer was so obvious the tree he was leaning against could have told him. "You and I invented stealth, bro," Dean answered. "We tried to make an entrance, and that didn't work. So now we wait till it gets dark. Come on, let's get some grub."

xxxxxxx

"Alright, so let's go over this thing again," Dean mumbled through a mouthful of french fries. "This destroyer thing. Any ideas on what it is?"

Sam shook his head, unwilling to be so vulgar with his own mouthful of food. He didn't respond until he'd finished chewing and swallowed. "I've narrowed it down, but there aren't enough details to get a firm description. The only thing that every account has in common is that the thing has razor sharp claws at least six inches long. Other than that, from what I can gather it has red, glowing eyes, walks on all fours, and could be anywhere from two hundred to two hundred fifty pounds. But they know for sure it's not an animal; well...they _assume_ for sure it's not animal. It's hairless, or at least that's what a couple people have said. The rest didn't say anything at all. Oh, and there's this kind of eerie half howl, half scream that people have heard coming from the mountains just about every night."

Dean nodded, cramming his mouth over his burger and biting down. "So all these deaths have occurred up in the mountains. By an old mine shaft?"

"Dude, Dean. Have a little tact. Try taking the bite _after_ you ask your question," Sam interjected, rolling his eyes out of frustration. But as Dean shrugged, indifferent to Sam's request, Sam realized his efforts were fruitless. He nodded, agreeing with Dean's muffled observation. "Yeah, that's where they've all been found. But there's evidence that they were dragged there, and from a pretty far distance. It's like he takes them from the town and drags them the whole way up there."

"They all died from the same thing?" Dean continued, rewarding Sam's efforts to table train him by flashing a starchy potato grin despite the somber topic.

Sam ignored the move, finding it easier to just not look than to say something about it. "Mmm Hmm. Every last one of them. Three stab wounds to the heart. Symmetrical; probably from the creature's claws."

Finishing up the last of his food Dean grinned eagerly at Sam, his eyes lighting up brighter than Sam had seen in weeks. They were finally hunting again. He was sooo ready to get back on the job. "I guess tonight we go in search of the mine shaft, then," He stated, resolute in his decision. "That's probably where this thing is hiding out."

xxxxxxx

They left the car just outside the town limits, hiding it back in the woods where it couldn't be seen without straining, and set off the rest of the way on foot. It felt good to finally be loaded down with weapons again, and Dean reveled in the weight of the gun hanging from his shoulders, vowing never to complain about its heaviness again. They kept to the forest, circling the town from the safety of the trees and shadows as they worked their way to the path leading up to the mine shaft. Looking down into the town, it was surprising to see that not a single light shone anywhere. On hindsight, there hadn't been any noticeable streetlights, not that they would have fit in aesthetically anyway. Or historically, for that matter. But the shock came from the lack of light in any of the windows of the towns tiny houses. It was as though every person in that little town had packed up and left.

"You alright there, Sammy?" Dean asked as they met the mouth of the trail. In the darkness Sam failed to notice the worry lines that etched Dean's face. But Dean, carrying the flashlight, had noticed the exaggerated limping that Sam had succumbed to as they wound their way around the uneven ground. His right leg was dragging heavily behind, and Sam had taken on a fierce determination in his expression as he supported his weight on the cane, using both hands to hold himself up. His breathing was heavy, and he hadn't said a word in over five minutes.

"I'm fine," Sam huffed, and Dean noticed the failure to correct him on choice of names. "Let's keep going."

"Maybe we should turn around. Give yourself a few more days to heal and then we'll come back out. We could try again to talk to the townspeople."

Using the conversation as an excuse to stop for a minute, Sam faced Dean. "They shot at us. The minute we rolled into that town they all disappeared into their houses and took aim. Whether they're somehow in on this, or scared shitless, I guarantee you we'll never get anyone to talk to us. And besides, we're already halfway there. I'm fine."

Dean eyed Sam sternly. He'd seen that look in his brother's eyes before. It was the same look he'd had the day he found Sam taking his first walk around the hotel. It was the same look Sam had had on his face every time he got involved in his therapy efforts since that day. It said _Don't fuck with me. And do not tell me what I can't do. Look how far I've come already._ _Asshole._

There wasn't much Dean could do to change Sam's mind, so they trudged off again, Dean walking slightly behind his brother, ready to catch him at the slightest sign of need. If Sam noticed Dean's absence from taking the lead he didn't say anything.

Halfway up the trail brought cause to stop dead in their tracks. "That's just creepy," Sam hissed, his eyes round. The scream cutting through the darkness sent shivers down his spine. One look at Dean told him his fearless older brother was experiencing the same reaction. Seeing the description of the half howl, half scream on paper hadn't done this creature justice. Not by a long shot.

"I've never heard anything like that," Dean answered, putting his body protectively in front of Sam, shielding him despite the lack of anything tangible to protect him from. "I really think you should head back, Sam. We don't know what's up there."

Sam glared at Dean, angrily brushing him out of the way as he pushed forward, moving further up the trail. Gritting his teeth, he snarled, the annoyance at Dean's over-protectiveness blatant. "I told you, Dean. I am fine. I can take care of myself."

Dean followed, easily over taking his puttering brother. "You're not looking too good, Sam. I'm just–"

"You're really starting to annoy me, Dean!" Sam snapped, interrupting Dean before he could say something he would end up regretting later. "We have a job to do, and I, for one, intend to finish this tonight. Besides, we're here."

Stopping at a clearing, the boys took in the sight. As Dean flashed the light around their trained eyes spotted the dried remains of blood spattering the surrounding foliage. They could only assume it had come from more than one of the victims who'd met their demise at this very location. All around, the ground was tamped down in various configurations. Each spot told the story of its last resident, their final hours above ground before they were discovered and interned in ceremonial funeral services. The entrance to the mine shaft was just as dilapidated as the rest of the town, if not more so. Old boards had rotted away from their nails, and now hung loosely, flapping and creaking in the light wind. There was evidence of at least one cave in, but enough residue had been removed from the mouth that it was still possible to gain entrance.

Dean aimed the flashlight into the entrance of the shaft, hoping to do his research without needing to actually enter the structural nightmare. Sam followed, resting his hand lightly on Dean's elbow hoping Dean would read it as indication that Sam was asserting his presence, lest he fear an attack. Only Sam knew it was really to steady himself, his legs getting weaker by the moment.

Less than fifteen feet away the light hit wall. The entire entrance to the mineshaft was empty, filled with nothing but dirt and rocks. "Dammit. I do not want to go in there," Dean shuddered. But he took a step forward. Desire not to do something was never enough reason to keep him from actually doing it. Especially when hunting was involved.

They entered cautiously, Sam still holding tightly onto Dean's arm, grateful for the additional support when he stumbled over a rock his foot hadn't sensed. Dean spun around, easily catching Sam and righting him before too much noise could be made. They held steady for several seconds, waiting for assurance that Sam had regained his footing. But instead of releasing his grasp he found himself squeezing harder at the image of Sam's eyes growing larger. Sam's attention had fallen on something around the corner and Dean could see the reflection of what Sam saw in his eyes. Red. In each eye two red dots reflected back at Dean. And from over his shoulder, a low growl echoed loudly, bouncing off the walls in surround sound. Dean shivered.


	16. Chapter 16

**I don't own the boys. Yadda yadda yadda.**

_Hey hey! Sorry it took me longer to update this time. The last several days have been CRAZY! Anyway, here we are: the second to last chapter. I actually have the final chapter written, but I'm gonna make you squirm for a day or two before I post it. Trust me...it will be worth it. Thanks again to everyone who reviewed. _I love you guys!

In each eye two red dots reflected back at Dean. And from over his shoulder, a low growl echoed loudly, bouncing off the walls in surround sound. Dean shivered.

In an instant, Dean spun around, putting his body protectively in front of Sam. Squaring his shoulders and planting his feet firmly in place Dean faced off with the eyes. He drew his gun, confident in its abilities, confident that the rock salt pack tightly inside would at the very least slow down, if not kill entirely, the creature. He aimed expertly, pointing the barrel directly between the red glowing eyes. "Just try it, you bastard," Dean goaded, staring the beast down.

To his right, Dean heard the soft click as Sam cocked his own weapon. "Stay behind me," Dean warned his brother, his voice intoning more than a request. It was an order, and Sam knew better than to object. Truth be known, he was grateful to have Dean moving in first.

The creature growled again, moving slowly, gracefully, toward its prey. It's eyes seemed to float in mid air, bodiless. Dean didn't dare turn the light on, for fear that it would invoke the attack. But the red eyes gave enough indication and Dean steadied his aim, pulling the trigger. The momentum of the shot rocked him a bit, but Dean held firm. The eyes were gone, and they could once again see nothing but blackness into the mine.

"Do you think you got it?" Sam whispered, planting his fingers into Dean's shoulder.

"I wish I knew," Dean whispered back. "Only one way to tell." He clicked the button on the flashlight, illuminating the darkness before them. Swishing the light back and forth, shining it into the numerous nooks and crannies of the tunnel, Dean moved forward in search of the creature.

"Can you see it anywhere?" Sam asked, his hand resting firmly on Dean's shoulder as he moved with his brother.

"I don't see a thing," was the nervous reply. "I don't know if that's a good thing or not."

Dean didn't have long to wait for an answer. As the boys continued to move forward, nearing an intersection, the deep growling began again. Dean spun, turning the light in the direction of the sound. The red of its eyes reflected against the yellow of the light, mixing together to create the image of flames in its round orbs. But the flashlight also shed light on the creature in question. The descriptions had been accurate, but lacked embellishment. It's pale white skin held a slightly greenish tint to it, and it stretched tightly across the muscular body, defining every curve and bulge. It was definitely closer to the two hundred fifty pound mark, and every pound of it was muscle. Drool hung from the mouth, making it look almost rabid, and it's razor sharp teeth protruded from the vicious smile as though to say _lunch_. The knife-like claws extended six inches from its massive feet. But the scariest part was the crouch. The creature had lowered itself, ready to pounce, and Dean and Sam barely had time to ingest its image before it sprang forward, landing with a shrill shriek on top of Dean.

Dean barely had time to register what was about to happen, but he'd used his final split second to shove Sam out of the way. Sam fell several feet away, unable to keep his footing from Dean's motion, but it meant he was safe from the creature. He yelled, furious at his brother for risking his own life to save Sam, but terrified at the resulting sight before him. Reaching deep within himself, Sam channeled his remaining energy. He pulled himself to his feet, discarding the cane that, oddly enough, was impeding his ability to help. It was difficult to steady a gun and grip the cane at the same time.

Dean let out a quick gasp as he felt the weight of their prey fall heavily on top of his chest, knocking the air out of him. The claws of it's hind legs embedded themselves into his right leg and his face contorted in agony. He would have screamed, but he was finding it difficult to gain enough breath to do much more than fight for consciousness. Dean thrashed wildly, throwing a left jab to the creature's throat and knocking it back enough for him to suck in a desperately needed breath of air. But it was back on top of him in an instant, sinking it's sharp teeth deep into his side. With air finally in his lungs, Dean howled in pain.

Sam cocked his gun, aimed, and fired. And then fired again. And again. But the salt loaded into the pistol did nothing more than piss the creature off. Snarling, it abandoned the attack on Dean and turned angrily on Sam. _Ohhh shit,_ Sam thought, backing up slowing as he fumbled in his pack for a different weapon. His hand closed around the molded handle of his knife, pulling the weapon from the bag and uncovering the ten inch blade. His eyes darted quickly to Dean who was struggling painfully to his hands and knees, and failing miserably.

The creature slunk slowly to its new prey. It was in no hurry. Instinct told it that neither boy was much of a threat. Sam continued to back up, carefully placing his feet one behind the other. He knew even the smallest stumble would do him in. If he fell, there was no hope.

"Sammy, be careful!" Dean croaked, finally succeeding in pulling himself upright. He sat unsteadily , swaying back and forth from the intense blood loss. But he still continued to climb, making small victories as he made to stand up.

Sam nodded, too nervous to speak. Fear filled his youthful features, combined with a desire to run to help Dean. But he persisted in moving backward, his residual numbness from the earlier injury long forgotten. The creature continued forward, still moving slowly, fluidly. It seemed to Sam that if he could just continue to move slowly, he would be safe until he could come up with a plan. But there was something Sam hadn't counted on, and he shuddered, sucking in a deep breath as his back hit solid wall. The creature lunged forward, hooking it's arms onto Sam's shoulders and pulling him down to the ground.

At the very least, he'd managed to anticipate the attack as soon as his back hit the wall, and Sam braced his arms, ready to fend off the monster. His hands hit solid matter, the muscle mass built up so tightly it didn't budge. He used all his strength to push, succeeding only in prolonging the inevitable. Despite his attempts, Sam was soon overpowered and he soon felt teeth sink into his shoulder as if it were butter. He screamed.

Seeing his little brother physically attacked, fighting under the weight of the beast, did for Dean what he wasn't able to do for himself. It brought him to his feet. He scrambled forward, ignoring the screaming pain in his side and leg. The knife Sam had retrieved from his pack lay uselessly on the ground, several feet from where the younger hunter had landed. Dean stooped to retrieve it, and almost didn't make it back into a stand as his side protested harshly to the undesired bend. Dean fought through the pain that threatened to drop him mercilessly to the ground and brought the knife high into the air with both hands, gaining the necessary momentum he needed to pierce the flesh of Sam's attacker.

With a kung foo yell, Dean lowered the knife, digging it deep into the tough flesh on the creature's back. He added to the attack with a firm twist of the knife before pulling it out, preparing to attack again. His efforts were rewarded with a powerful kick from the beasts hind leg, the curve of the claws hooking into the flesh of his gut and tearing it as Dean stumbled backwards against the force. And the it was on top of Sam again, ripping the flesh on his arms as he fought against the razors that hovered all around him. Four feet, three claws on each one, and God only knows how many teeth in its mouth. They were everywhere, and Sam's strength was quickly waning.

Dean clutched at his stomach, blood pouring out like a fountain. He was quickly finding himself succumbing to the vertigo that accompanied severe blood loss. If he had a mirror, Dean would have barely recognized the pale, ghost like face that would stare back. He was getting weaker by the minute. But he staggered up again, determined to save his brother before it was too late. His only thoughts his brother's safety. _Sammy. I'm coming. Just hang on. I'll get him off you. He's toast. _

_More weapons. Different weapons. There has to be something_.His gait more of a stumble than it's usual swagger, Dean crossed the tunnel to the bags they had abandoned earlier. In one, he pulled another pistol. This one loaded with silver bullets. For good measure, Dean loaded a final bullet inside; a hollow tip filled with poison that would explode upon impact. If the silver didn't work, he sure as hell hoped that one would.

He returned to Sam and their hunt the instant he had a prepared weapon, but he was too late. Dean arrived at their side just in time to see the beasts six inch claws impale themselves inside Sam's chest; into his heart. "Oh God, Sammy. NO!" From the corner of his eye Dean could see Sam throw his head back in agony, the tortured scream echoing around the entire cave. But Dean couldn't allow himself even a second to focus on that. Instead, he channeled the sound, using it as momentum as he fired the gun. Crack. Crack. Crack. He emptied all eight bullets into the creature's body. The beast had dropped after only the second bullet. Stopped breathing after the fourth. But Dean didn't stop firing until the gun was empty. And then he continued to fire, the gun clicking hollowly as it hit air instead of additional bullets.

"Dean." That voice. Sam's voice; shallow and fleeting. Dean finally dropped the gun and fell beside his brother, lifting the last foot of the beast off of Sam's body and shoving it aside in disgust. He gathered his brother into his arms, pulling him painfully into his lap as he pressed his hands against the wounds to staunch the flow of blood. In the light of the fallen flashlight, Dean could see Sam's lips were already turning blue. His injured heart just didn't have the strength to pump blood throughout his entire body.

"Hang on, Sammy," Dean cried, tears flowing unnaturally down the side of his face. "I'm gonna get you help. You're gonna be fine. Just fine."

Sam reached a hand up, placing it gently on Dean's own hand. They felt ice cold. "You were a great big brother," Sam mumbled, finding it hard to force his lips into their desired shapes. "You always looked out for me. Always took care of me."

"I always will," Dean sobbed. "This doesn't end now, Sammy. This ends when I tell you it ends. _You end_ when I tell you to. NOT NOW!"

Sam's breath came out in short gasps now, every one a struggle to pull in. But he forced a stern smile across his face. "It's Sam," he rasped. "You promised."

A light chuckle escaped from Dean. "Why don't you make me stop," he suggested quietly, pressing harder against the flow of blood as he noticed his grip wasn't doing its job.

Sam laughed back, but it became a wheeze almost instantaneously, his back arching in pain as he tried to regain what little air he'd been managing to bring in. "Don't...make me...laugh," he said weakly.

Dean had realized the seriousness of the situation before he'd even killed the beast, but now he sprang to action. "Sam, you have to help me with something," he ordered. "I need you to hold your hands against your chest. I need my phone. I have to get you help."

The lethargic nod Sam gave did little to ease Dean's doubts. There was no way Sam had the strength to keep pressure on his own wound, but sitting there, watching his little brother bleed out wasn't an option either. And the phone was at least fifteen feet away. "Ten seconds, Sammy," Dean pleaded, pressing Sam's hands firmly against the oozing blood. "I just need you to hold this for ten seconds and them I'll be back. We'll count together, okay little brother?"

Sam nodded again, fighting to keep his eyes open. "OK," he mouthed, unable to emit any sound.

"One. Two," Dean said loudly, limping quickly to where the cell phone sat in his bag. "Stay with me little brother. Three. Four." Dean rummaged through the bag and emerged triumphantly with the phone, flipping it open. The screen mocked him, announcing that it was searching for a signal.

"Five." Dean announced, trying to hide the panic in his voice as he realized their lifeline was a dud. "Still with me there, Sammy? Six." He limped back toward Sam, his eyes glued to the screen of the phone hoping fervently that a signal would magically appear.

"Seven. I'm coming, Sammy. Almost there. Eight." Dean arrived back at his little brother, hovering over him as he debated whether he should leave him behind and run for help. But the lack of hospitality the town of Devils Elbow had offered them made his decision for him. If he was leaving, so was Sam.

"Nine." Dean lowered himself to Sam, readying himself to lift the boy. "Ten. See, Sammy. I'm back. I made it in te– " Dean froze. Something wasn't right. Sam wasn't right. His eyes watered heavily as he looked at the still body below him. Sam's hand had slipped from his wound, but it didn't matter. The blood wasn't flowing anymore. His heart had stopped.

Dean pulled Sam into his arms, cradling his limp body against his chest and rocking back and forth. The cry boomed out of the mine shaft and echoed over the entire mountain, reaching the ears of the few residents who remained in Devils Elbow. "Nooooo! Sammmmmmeeeeeeeeee!"


	17. Chapter 17

_Alright, so here it is; the final chapter. I wanted to make you guys squirm a little more, but I'm squirming probably worse than you guys are. I actually wrote this couple weeks ago. I was in the shower and all of a suddenly had an epiphany and went 'that's it!' Swear to God, I almost didn't rinse the conditioner out of my hair - haha. I have a feeling this will be met with mixed reviews, and that's OK. I want to know what you think! Enjoy! It's been absolute pleasure writing this story._

Finale...

"Nooooo! Sammmmmmeeeeeeeeee!" Dean's eyes shot open wide in panic. His lungs burned with desperation as he tried unsuccessfully to pull in air. Sweat poured down his face and his body trembled with fear. Hyperventilation took effect. Greyish spots danced mockingly in front of his eyes. The images hung fresh in his mind; fighting the brain creature, Sam being thrown across the room, Sam in a wheelchair, Sam fighting every day to regain use of his legs, and then succeeding only to be killed by that damn Devils Elbow destroyer. His little brother was dead. He'd failed him.

But then he heard it. That voice. "Dean. It's OK. Calm down. You're OK. You're fine." The voice wasn't real. It couldn't be real. Sam was dead. He'd died in Dean's arms. Dean looked up as Sam's concerned face loomed over him. This was a dream. It had to be a dream. "Dean, I'm here. It's me. It's Sam. Breathe. You have to breathe."

"S– S...am?" Dean's voice quavered, barely able to form the single word. He blinked in rapid succession. His eyes just wouldn't' focus. It couldn't be Sam. It had to be a trick. "But you...you died. You're gone. I watched you d– die. I held you i– in my arms."

Confusion joined concern in Sam's face as he stared into his older brother's eyes. "Dean, what are you talking about? Nothing happened to me. I've been here ever since Mom called me."

"M...om?" _What? Mom called Sam? But how? When? _"Sam, you're confused. Mom's not here. She died too." _Wait, maybe that's it. Am I dead too? Is this heaven? Or...or hell? That's it. That has to be it. I'm dead. OK. I can deal with this. Now that I know, I can handle this._

Dean heard a door open and more footsteps rushed in. Another familiar voice asked anxiously, "He woke up?" _He knew that voice, too. It was that prick who'd convinced them that Sam would never get better. But Sammy'd shown him. Sammy walked again._

"Yes, Dr. Reynolds. Just a couple minutes ago. But he's not coherent. He's just rambling. Talking about his brother and me being...dead." _What the hell is going on! _Dean hadn't heard that voice in 22 years. But it rang loud and clear in his mind as though he'd heard it just minutes ago. That soft, gentle voice that always made everything alright. His mother's voice. _This isn't possible. This can't be happening._

A light was beamed into Dean's eyes as he connected the familiar voice with the familiar face now looking down on him with worry. _Yup, definitely him. Right down to that cocky, know-it-all grin._ "It's probably a result of the morphine," the doctor explained to the rest of the room. "It can induce some very weird dreams."

_Dreams! This isn't a dream. It was real_. _The ghosts and the demons and Mom and ...Sam. The whole thing was real. I was there. I should know._

"Just keep reassuring him that he's alright. Take things slow." The doctor disappeared from Dean's sight and was replaced by another face. It looked like his mother. And sounded like his mother. But it wasn't his mother. Couldn't be. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to become her, but they had failed miserably. He knew her face. Knew every dimple and crease and freckle. He saw her face in his dreams, that same face he'd seen when he was a kid. The face in front of him had similar features, but this one had aged. This one was in its early fifties. There were wrinkles around the corners of her eyes and streaks of grey in her hair.

"Dean, honey, you need to focus. It's mom. Look at me. I'm _right_ here. I'm OK. And Sam's OK." Sam reappeared in Dean's line of vision too. And then another face.

"Dad? You're here too?" _But how can Dad be here? Dad's not dead. MIA, maybe, but certainly not dead. At least not the last I knew. _

"Of course I'm here, son. Where else would I be?" Warm. His father's voice was warm, ...and caring. He hadn't heard those emotions in his father in years. It had always been orders, demands, anger.

"But..." _This is all too weird. This doesn't make any sense. How can they all be– _

"Dean, do you remember anything that happened?" Sam was talking again.

Rolling his eyes at the ghosts of his family, Dean nodded his head. "Of course I remember what happened. I remember all of it. What I don't understand is how you can be here. You shouldn't be here."

"It's alright," Sam assured him. "My classes can wait. There will always be other semesters. But you, big brother, well there's only one of you. I'll stay here as long as you need me."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Questions swam through Dean's head demanding answers. "Classes? What classes? You haven't been in school in months!"

"It's been less than two months," Sam answered defensively, still looking at his brother with curiosity. "You've been in a coma for six and a half weeks."

"A coma!" Dean's eyes bugged out, hyperventilation threatening to attack again. "No. You're wrong. That's not possible. I– "

His mother's gentle voice interrupted him again. "Sweetie, you and a couple of your friends were in a car accident on the way home from a football game."

Humor played across Dean's face, as he searched for the cameras. He could feel himself fighting hysterics, as he contemplated the crap these people were feeding him. _What the hell are they talking about? Friends? No. I don't have friends. I've never had time for friends. And a _football game?_ Me? Never in my life have I been to a football game. I don't even know how the hell the game is played. If morphine is to blame then this is the result. Whatever the hell this is, it must be a dream. I have to escape. I've got to get out of this nightmare! "_Ineed to get out of here. This is just too weird. I don't know who you people are, but you're not my family. This isn't my life. I need to go." Dean pulled the covers off roughly and attempted to sit up, but was stopped by a firm hand on each of his shoulders.

"I'm afraid you won't be going anywhere just yet, son." His father's voice had become firm, but pain and sorrow laced itself in there, too.

"Just let me go!" Dean growled. "This isn't right. Something's not right!"

"That's the first thing you've gotten correct all day," Sam agreed, sorrowful. "Something's definitely not right. Dean, you got hurt in the accident. More than just your head."

"Sam, save it for later. He's not thinking straight right now. You'll only upset him more." There she was, talking again. Her kindness and concern the same as it had always been. But Mary Winchester's charm hadn't effected the Winchester men in years. Her kind nature had long ago ceased to exist within their own demeanor's. And sugar coating situations hadn't been an option for years.

"Just tell me what's happened to me. Tell me what's wrong." Dean smirked, amusement plastered all over his face. _This should be good. Whoever these people are...whatever these people are, they are really playing this thing up. It's like they truly believe what they're saying to me. What the hell kind of demons are these?_

John Winchester, or rather - as Dean believed - the demon disguised as John Winchester,

leaned over his son, his face contorted with despair. Son, I don't know how to tell you this. I never wanted– you have to understand that I would do anything to take this pain from you–"

"Just say it!" Dean snapped at the figures. The suspense was killing him. This dream was too surreal.

"Dean...you're paralyzed."

The end...or is it?

_See there? How could any of you actually believe I would kill Sammy? I'm not that kind of a person. Pain, yes. Death? Hell no. So anyway, I know I left even the end in a cliff hanger, but that's how I thought it should end. It sums everything up, answers all questions, and keeps Sam alive. I know - it also creates a lot of questions. That's what I meant to do! I left this in such a way that I could write a sequel - and believe me, it will be even more convoluted than its predecessor. If I get enough responses I've already got an idea for how I can run with this. If not, well, we'll just have to see... Thanks guys. _


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